


blend into my favourite colour

by rainbowninja167



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Tumblr, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, I'm sorry!, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Pining, blink and you'll miss the sophiam, ill-advised whipped cream fights, it's by a minor character who doesn't even really appear in the story, kind of - they're mostly just confused, that are PG I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 09:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6560758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowninja167/pseuds/rainbowninja167
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Harry often wonders if they’ll ever meet in real life. And if Harry will recognize Tommo the instant they see each other, like somehow their souls will just </i>know.<br/><i>Or maybe Harry’s soul is shouting “Louis!” too loudly for any other signals to go through.</i></p>
<p>Harry is a barista with a secret <i>Werewolf High</i> fan blog, a desperate crush on a customer named Louis, and a best friend on Tumblr who always makes him laugh. Louis can't figure out why the barista at his favorite coffee shop keeps creepily staring at him, and to make matters worse, he may be slightly in love with a friend he met online.</p>
<p>A love square involving two boys, one TV fandom, and one food fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blend into my favourite colour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toritastic11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toritastic11/gifts).



> It's possible that this fic got away from the original prompt a little bit -- it's less "tumblr boyfriends," and more "tumblr bffs who are super slow on the uptake" -- but I hope you like it!
> 
> I invented a fictional fandom for the purposes of this story, which is loosely based off _Teen Wolf_ , but you don't need to have any knowledge of _Teen Wolf_ whatsoever to read this fic. BiteCon happens to be a real thing, but I chose the name independently of it, and the convention in my fic isn't related to the real BiteCon at all.
> 
> Also, I tagged for homophobia just to be super safe, but it's a very small moment in the fic, and involves an OC being dismissive of guys who like "girly" media.
> 
> Thanks to [Jo and Bert](http://iampackratseemehoard.tumblr.com/), my own tumblr bffs, for betaing this fic, and for tolerating all my weird questions in the group chat. Like: "so...how would you wield a syrup dispenser as a weapon? Why? No reason..."
> 
> OK, so maybe you should've been more concerned.
> 
> The title is from Carly Rae Jepsen's "Favourite Colour."

"He’s glaring at me again,” Louis whines, biting down viciously on the straw of his iced tea. Eleanor glances up at their barista, who is indeed staring at their table from the shadows behind the coffee bar. He has a polka-dotted scarf in his curls and murder in his eyes. He looks like a demonic Muppet Baby. Louis has never in his life seen such a ridiculous person.

“Don’t be stupid, I’m sure he’s not-- oh.” Eleanor cuts herself off, and then snickers until Louis kicks at her ankle under the table. Normally, Louis finds studying with Eleanor to be loads of fun. They’ve been friends since their first year at Uni, when Eleanor designed costumes for the show Louis was performing in. It had felt like a stroke of divine luck when their Lighting Design professor had partnered them together in lab this term, and an even bigger stroke of luck for Louis’ procrastination habits when Eleanor had taken one scornful look at their dusty, crowded lab space and dragged Louis into a nearby coffee shop instead. It hadn’t taken much wheedling on Eleanor’s part to convince Louis to finish the rest of their term’s assignments in coffee-scented comfort.

But Eleanor also has a sneaky habit of knowing too much. Like the fact that the indomitable Louis Tomlinson could be so easily unsettled by a demon-barista with unnecessarily tight jeans and ostentatious tattoos.

“Harry Styles is such a twat,” Louis sighs, and relieves some of his feelings by pulling rude faces at Harry from behind his iced tea. “Like, this is a shitty student café with bad lighting and worse muffins. What’s he even trying to prove?”

Eleanor rolls her eyes with the world-weary patience of someone who has heard this all before.

“Can we skip the bit where you complain about the pattern on his jumper, and his sad hipster playlists, and I’ll just nod along while you obsess over his ‘pretentious’ biceps? Some of us have real work to do.”

“Shut up,” Louis says, but without any heat behind it. “They _are_ pretentious. Think how much effort they must take. Bet he watches _Mad Men_ and thinks that makes him an _arbiter of culture_.” Louis rolls the last phrase off his tongue with a sort of relish.

“ _Christ_ , here we go,” Eleanor mumbles, desperately jabbing at her phone’s Facebook app.

The truth is, Louis could have forgiven Harry many things -- biceps included -- but the first time they’d met, he had managed to insult the one thing that Louis held sacred. It only added insult to injury that Louis’d been aggressively flirting with him at the time.

When Lottie had browbeaten Louis into watching a weird sci-fi show called _Werewolf High_ in the name of “sibling bonding,” she’d endured three solid episodes of Louis’ complaints. But then Hank had been introduced as the pack’s new Alpha in Episode 4, and. Well.

It’s not just that Hank is stupidly attractive ( _he is_ ), or that he has spectacular chemistry with his sarcastic co-star, Logan ( _he does_ ), but he’s also the character around whom the rest of the ensemble turns. With just a few sarcastic eyebrow furrows and meaningful pauses, Hank could convey frustration at his pack of melodramatic teenage werewolves, but also a sense of careful responsibility for them. Louis is convinced that without Hank’s quiet but hilarious performances, the whole show would be ruined.

And at the time, Louis had thought: _I want to do that_.

He’d even said as much, in the midst of a shouting match with Lottie that had mostly devolved into gesturing wildly at a paused screen and insisting “ _Why can’t you see how much narrative work his clenched hand is doing_!?”

And she had bellowed back “If you know so bloody much, maybe you should _act in something yourself_ instead of talking shit about Rob’s emotional range!” (Rob was Lottie’s favorite character. He had spectacular abs, and Lottie was very invested).

Their mum had said “ _Language_ , Charlotte,” and the next day at school, Louis had signed up to audition for _Grease_.

He’d also, around the same time, created a Tumblr, mostly for shitposting and reblogging gifsets. But that’s when he learned that _WH_ actually had quite a robust fandom. All of whom apparently found his shitposts hilarious. As time went on, Louis’ posts got slightly more elaborate, and then he’d started doing full recaps of episodes. And then people had come into his askbox with predictions and headcanons. And _then_ he’d started writing fanfiction.

Reblogging gifsets, Louis had learned too late, was a slippery slope toward madness.

When Louis went off to Uni the next year to study acting, the _WH_ fandom had made it seem a little less lonely to be leaving his sisters and his mum behind. Even if he doesn’t get to visit as much as he likes, he can always count on Lottie to text him a series of exclamation points on Thursday nights when there’s a new episode, or call him up to say with no preamble, “So much drama in the _WH_ tag!”

Which is why Louis finds it so infuriating when people don’t bother to watch an episode, and just assume it’s worthless because it’s a show marketed to teen girls. Granted, Louis wasn’t particularly surprised -- just a bit annoyed -- when he’d casually mentioned _Werewolf High_ in his first conversation with Harry, and Harry had acted almost offended by the reference.

But after that, it was like Harry just shut down, to the point that whenever Louis tried to order a drink now, the guy just avoids his eyes and gives him these terse, one-word answers. And then stares at Louis nonstop. Clearly, Harry is so contemptuous of fun television that Louis has beendeemed unworthy by association.

It all feels very unfair to Louis, but his friends have been startlingly unsympathetic. Niall had just laughed and said “pretty sure your flirting’s not supposed to make people go _catatonic_ , Lou.” And had then very earnestly offered to be Louis’ wingman the next time they went out, “to protect the public.”

Eleanor, at this point, just aggressively ignores him.

It’s a shame, because aside from Harry glowering behind the counter, this coffee shop is practically perfect. It’s near the theater building on campus, empty enough that they always find seats, and Louis had struck up an easy friendship with Liam and Sophia, two of the other baristas on staff. When Harry isn’t on shift, everything is grand. It’s not Louis’ fault that his class schedule and Harry’s shifts seem to match up more frequently lately. It’s not _Louis’_ fault that Harry has been getting more distracting, with his curls and his sad pout and those green eyes that are always _staring._ It must be cosmic retribution for something Louis had done in a past life, he’s certain of it.

“Don’t be stupid. If you angle the units that much, the dancers’ faces will all be in shadow.” Eleanor’s annoyed voice and vigorous erasing bring Louis back to the lighting plot they’re supposed to be designing.

“No they won’t! It’ll be artistic!” Louis squawks, grabbing her arm to prevent her from erasing anything more. She shoves back, and suddenly they’re tussling over the pencil, Eleanor giggling into his ear as Louis pokes the ticklish spot on her side.

There’s a cough from behind the counter. Harry is giving them a dirty look, and Louis immediately stops what he’s doing to glare back.

“This is a _family establishment_ ,” Harry says primly. Louis blinks at him. And then slides his eyes very deliberately over to a pair of teenagers snogging in a dark corner of the shop. Harry follows his gaze and flushes.

“Right. Carry on then,” Harry says quietly, wrinkles his nose, and flees into the break room without another word.

“...What just happened?” Louis turns to Eleanor, mouth hanging open, but Eleanor is looking between Louis and the break room door like she’s thinking hard. “ _What_?” Louis repeats, tapping her hand with the pencil he’d finally managed to steal back. But she just shrugs and refuses to answer.

***

The day Louis had first come into the coffee shop where Harry worked, Harry was in the midst of a battle with Liam over the fate of their break room, and thus wasn’t in the best frame of mind for a meet-cute.

“Can’t we at least replace _one_ of these with my _Dark Knight_ poster?” Liam had pleaded with Harry, gesturing desperately toward the _Werewolf High_ merchandise that was currently plastered over the break room walls.

“I have an _artistic vision_ , Liam,” Harry had snapped. “You can’t rearrange anything. Because _that poster_ \--” he pointed to a mid-shot of Hank glaring outward, werewolf fangs bared “--needs to be able to see _that poster_ \--” he pointed to a close-up of Logan’s face looking pensive. “Because they’re in love.”

“...The posters?” Liam asks, tilting his head and squinting at them.

“Hank and Logan. _HaLo_.” Harry gestures significantly to the cork-board, which had originally held important safety regulations, but which had been re-appropriated into a collage of Hank/Logan sketches on various coffee shop napkins.

“Mate, you know I think your art’s brilliant. I just--” he waved the _Dark Knight_ poster a little feebly, the battle already lost.

Sophia just laughed at both of them from the mirror where she was tying up her hair for their shift.

“Babe, let Harry decorate the way he likes. Save yours for our flat.” She threw Liam a pointed glance at this, and Liam had the decency to look abashed. They’d both been treated to stories of Harry’s asshole roommate, Adam, who’d walked into their shared student living flat on the first day of the term, taken one look at Harry’s lovingly folded _Werewolf High_ fleece blanket, and had laughed nastily.

“That your sister’s or something?”

“No,” Harry had retorted, glaring back. “It’s from my favorite show.”

“Really?” Adam had drawn out the word, giving Harry a contemptuous once-over. “Thought only thirteen-year-old girls watched that. Or gay guys, I s’pose. All those blokes taking off their shirts, y’know?”

“I guess,” Harry had said, twisting his fingers in the soft blanket.

It hadn’t seemed like a stellar moment for coming out to his new roommate, so Harry had kept quiet. But in the end, nothing seemed to make much of a difference to the steady deterioration of their roommate relationship. It had been too late to switch housing, and so Harry had found himself spending most of the term in hiding at the library, at Liam and Sophia’s flat, and in the coffee shop break room.

“Easy for you to say. Harry didn’t put the cardboard cutout in _your_ toilet,” Liam was grumbling to Sophia when Harry focused back in on their conversation. “And I can’t take a wee without a werewolf glaring at me the whole time.”

“Bet you wouldn’t mind if _Batman_ was the one watching you wee,” Harry retorted, giving Liam his most cherubic smile. Liam was not impressed.

When the three of them finally started their shift, Liam immediately claimed inventory work, and was apparently still annoyed enough to throw the word “seniority” around when Harry tried to protest. Several hours, one understaffed front, and countless angry customers later, the door to the coffee shop had burst open and a boy had tumbled through, collapsing dramatically in front of the counter.

“Black tea, please, it’s an emergency!”

The boy’s cheeks were flushed, either from laughing or from the chilly fall weather. Harry noticed he wasn’t wearing a jacket, just a worn McFly T-shirt that pulled across his chest like he’d been slightly smaller when he’d bought it. His light hair fell across his face in an untidy fringe which he pushed back impatiently, still grinning up at Harry.

Harry sometimes made a game of inventing names for new customers when things weren’t too busy in the shop. He enjoyed trying to figure out what kind of person someone was, just from that five-second interaction at the counter. It also helped him with the customers who returned:Christmas Sweater Lady, Anxious Bloke, and Overcompensating Hipster were all easier to remember than Sheila, Andrew, and Lars.

Some people were more difficult than others, but Harry immediately knew that this one was called the Laughing Boy. Even when he’d pressed his lips together into a twinkling smile instead, there was an air about him like underneath it all, he was still secretly laughing at the universe. The Laughing Boy moved with the seemingly unstudied grace that, paradoxically, only comes with meticulous physical self-control. He was a performer, Harry decided. That was the only explanation for the way that everything in the coffee shop -- a random assortment of objects and people -- had suddenly reorganized themselves into perfectly geometrical orbits around his smile. Even the coffee lids and sugar packets were captivated.

Or maybe Harry was spending too much time in the school photography studio. Not everything was about visual composition.

“Yeah? What’s the emergency?” Harry finally asked, unable to prevent a small grin from spreading over his face.

“Take your pick.” The boy waved his arm airily. Then he smirked and leaned in a bit, like he was about to tell Harry a secret. “It’s a full moon, for one. Lots of dangerous things around a full moon.”

“Are saying you’re a werewolf? Who drinks tea?” Harry teased, and Laughing Boy looked delighted.

“Maybe I am,” he said. And then his face changed, something in his smile going a little dark and a little devious. “Why, Curly? D’you want the Bite?” His eyes lingered on Harry’s collarbone in a way that made Harry’s breath catch, and then flickered up to meet Harry’s own eyes. The boy was smirking again, probably at the fact that Harry’s whole face had just flooded with heat.

“Um.” Harry stared helplessly at Laughing Boy, who was now giving him a hopeful, encouraging look, inviting him to return the banter. Harry generally thought of himself as a fairly charming person, but something about this boy was making it impossible for him to act like a normal fucking human. So, of course, when Harry opened his mouth, out tumbled the absolute _stupidest_ thing.

“Only works if you’re an Alpha, though.” It was a reference to _Werewolf High_ that Harry would just have to _pray_ this boy didn’t pick up on.

“You watch _Werewolf High_?” the boy asked, his eyebrows raising in what Harry thought must be skepticism. _Well shit_.

And maybe it was because he’d been thinking about Adam earlier, with Liam’s _Dark Knight_ posters, and about how quickly Adam had deemed Harry too weird to be worth his time. Maybe that was the reason that Harry blurted out “No, of course not!” and then blushed heavily.

The boy’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly, and Harry wondered if his lie had been too obvious. But before he could recover from this disastrous turn in the conversation, a girl entered the shop and sauntered up to Laughing Boy. The girl was very pretty, she was rolling her eyes with a sort of endeared exasperation, and Harry wasn’t sure he liked her.

“That wasn’t funny, Louis,” she said, reaching Laughing Boy and poking him in the side. The boy turned toward her, so he missed Harry mouthing “ _Louis_ ” happily to himself.

“C’mon, El, it was a _bit_ funny.”

“If we’re going to sneak out of lab, we have to...y’know... _sneak_. Not throw a bunch of papers in the air and make a break for it.”

“Worked, didn’t it? It was very distracting,” Louis said, smug. When the girl still looked annoyed, he sighed and pulled her in for an aggressive side-cuddle. “I’ll make it up to you, love. Coffee on me, yeah?”

The girl was still rolling her eyes, but she’d relaxed against Louis’ shoulder, and the look in her eyes when she ordered the most expensive drink on their menu was decidedly cheeky.

“Um, yeah, sure, it’ll just be a moment. The tea as well,” Harry managed to mumble out, suddenly feeling even more awkward and out-of-place in what was clearly a private conversation between the Laughing Boy -- no, _Louis_ now -- and his girlfriend.

Harry set about preparing the girl’s extra-large hazelnut Frapuccino, and told himself that the heaviness in his stomach and the scowl that settled over his face were both _entirely_ because blended drinks were loads of trouble to make. That was definitely the only reason.

For the next several weeks, Louis and Eleanor appear in the coffee shop together like clockwork, and Harry tries to pretend that it doesn’t break his heart.

***

By the time Louis arrives home from the coffee shop, he’s already forgotten his and Eleanor’s battle over the lighting plot and Harry’s snappish disappearance into the break room. He shrugs his jacket onto the sofa, kicks his shoes off into Niall’s stack of library books, and makes a beeline to his bedroom to check Tumblr. _Werewolf High_ is on that night, and Louis is pretty sure this episode’s going to resolve a season-long mystery about the contents of a magically locked safe, so of course the fandom is going absolutely crazy. He already has hundreds of messages in his askbox, most of which are from excited anons that Louis can answer easily enough with a few well-placed gifs. The ones that ask for actual episode predictions will take more thought, but Louis has secretly been ruminating on this question all throughout his study session with Eleanor, so he figures he has some good theories.

But there’s one message Louis is actively searching for -- and he can’t help but smile to himself when he sees it.

**haz-the-bite:**

> So how many asks did you get about the safe? Only prediction that matters: number of shirtless scenes this week. Place your bets? xx H

Louis laughs out loud, and quickly sends a message back.

**terribletommo:**

> Hope they restrain themselves this week, I can’t afford to get completely pissed on a thursday night !!

It had been some time earlier this season when Louis had first run into _haz-the-bite_. He’d seen a beautiful Hank/Logan manip on his dash, and he’d been impressed and curious enough to check out the artist’s blog. The guy just goes by H on Tumblr, and his work had been stunning; he could create the strongest emotion or call attention to the most heartbreaking character details with just a few edits to the original images. Louis had been delighted by the slyly sarcastic way he replied to asks -- like he was really pleased with his own jokes, even if nobody else got them. H was also the undisputed master of the mood board, a genre that up until then, Louis had scorned as totally pointless and overused. But this boy could create the most absorbing patterns with those nine goddamn squares.

Louis sometimes wonders if there’s such thing as a Tumblr Prodigy, because he’s pretty sure H would be one of them. Even if he does have almost _offensively_ incorrect opinions about which Hogwarts house the _Werewolf High_ characters would be Sorted into.

Before he could think better of the idea, Louis had sent H an overly enthusiastic ask, and had promptly gotten one in return.

**haz-the-bite said:**

> Thank you! I’ve followed you since you created this amazing masterpost. It was like...all these times Rob was in the background of a shot eating snacks? It was brilliant

The fastest way to Louis’ heart was to compliment his masterposts. So, naturally, he was completely charmed.

Now it’s months later, and Louis and H chat almost every day, mostly about _Werewolf High._ Somewhere along the line, H had found out how much Louis missed being able to watch _WH_ with his sister, and had sweetly offered to watch with him instead:

> I mean, we basically message each other constantly throughout the episode anyway. We may as well make it official. If you want?

The obvious natural progression had been a weekly _Werewolf High_ drinking game, over chat, between Louis and H. It had been Louis’ idea to take their chat transcripts, clean them up, add screenshots and gifs, and a rating scheme based on the amount of beer they drank, until he had a supplement to his more _sober_ weekly recaps. Before he knew it, though, their rules masterpost had thousands of notes and total strangers use “full-pint episode” like a common phrase. Louis still finds it a bit weird.

But Louis still enjoys their weekly commentary to an almost absurd degree, so he grins as he checks WhatsApp, where H has already started talking about the week’s episode:

> Thank god for WH, I’ve had the worst day. Maybe I’ll luck out and we’ll get a sex scene? That means a whole bottle, yeah?

**terribletommo:**

> Sorry your day’s been shit, you OK ?

**haz-the-bite:**

> Yeah, just made an arse of myself in front of LB...again

In general, Louis knows very little about H’s real life. Louis knows he’s in his first year of Uni somewhere in England, that he’s frequently in hiding from a shitty roommate, and that he has a hopeless crush on some guy at work that he’d nicknamed LB. Louis has no idea what it stands for. Maybe H just has a thing for abbreviations. But while Louis may not know much about H, he certainly knows a lot about LB. The boy with the beautiful smile and the magical bum (“You don’t _understand_ , tommo, you haven’t seen him in _skinnies_ , it’s like a religious experience”). To hear H tell it, he’s the most fascinating person in the world, like he has magnets embedded under his skin. Or possibly in the magical bum. This is usually the point where H’s metaphors get hazy. 

Sometimes, when it’s late at night and Louis can tell H is becoming a little sleep-drunk, he’ll tell Louis about his dream photo shoots, once he’s left school and gotten proper famous. They all involve LB in some way, naturally: “A hundred pictures of his hands, all in black-and-white” or “I just want to, like, go to the top of a mountain and capture the setting sun in the reflection of his eyes. Is that weird? That’s probably weird.”

Louis privately thinks LB sounds like a complete prick, like the kind of person Louis would utterly despise if they ever met. Louis reckons LB is fully aware of how charming he is, and he’s willing to fuck around with sweet kids like H because he can get away with it. Louis likes to make people laugh, yeah, but if someone cared about him the way H cares about LB, Louis would never dream of crushing them so ruthlessly. Feelings like H’s deserve to be protected. Boys like H deserve to be loved back.

But Louis knows he can’t say any of this out loud. So he resists the impulse to write petulant things like “you know, people have told me _I_ have a great arse,” and settles for comforting H as best he can from afar, with the sort of stupid jokes he knows H will appreciate.

> I still say he’s an idiot for not falling instantly in love with you. You are a delight, haz-the-bite ! See, it even rhymes !

**haz-the-bite:**

> Ha! Thanks tommo, but it’s fine :(

Louis blames that sad frowny face for what he says next. H is usually unerringly positive, from predictions about who’s going to die in the season finale, or his dream to be a professional photographer, down to whether it’ll really rain if the forecast predicts it. He’s so relentlessly _unbothered_ by all the daily disappointments that manage to crush Louis so easily, that it actually hurts a bit to see his optimism slipping. If Louis ever does meet this LB guy, he might actually kick him.

> I’m serious, love ! Like I would totally date you ! If we ever met on the mortal plane haha

Of course, it’s at that moment that Niall hops onto Louis’ bed, startling him and nearly sending his laptop crashing to the floor.

“You’re very familiar, for someone who has a “KNOCK FIRST, YOU TOSSER” sign taped to his bedroom door,” Louis points out sourly. Niall only burrows further into Louis’ blankets.

“Shut up. I have seven chapters of _Dorian Gray_ to read, and a five-page paper on Beckett due Wednesday, but here I am on your stupid, narrow _disaster_ of a bed, cuz I need to know what’s in that goddamn safe. This is all your fucking fault.”

“You’re welcome,” Louis tells him sweetly, and passes him a beer.

Niall had met Louis in a Shakespeare prerequisite in their first term at Uni. Niall studies English Lit. While Louis has never actually _seen_ Niall read a book from start to finish, he does recite Yeats poetry very emphatically while drunk, which he claims is the whole point of an English degree anyway. They’d moved into a student flat together the moment they’d been able; Louis ignores all Niall’s attempts to establish personal boundaries, and in return, gave him the gift of _Werewolf High_. He reckons it’s a fair trade.

“You already chatting with your boyfriend?” Niall asks, craning his neck to get a look at Louis’ phone screen.

“He’s not my boyf--” Louis starts, but Niall interrupts him, having made it to Louis’ last message to H.

“ _Louis_.”

“Shut up.” Louis draws his phone closer to his chest, shifting his body to shield it from being seen, but the damage has already been done. Niall furrows his eyebrows.

“Do we need to have a Real Feelings Talk about this?”

“No,” Louis grumbles mutinously.

“Lou, I’ve been taking the piss because I didn’t think it was serious, but that last message was _not_ subtle. You actually _like_ him.”

“No,” Louis repeats, glaring. “He’s clever, and his HaLo fanart makes me cry, and his dumb jokes are endearing, but we’re _friends_. I don’t even know where in England he lives. Or what he looks like. Or his _name_.”

Niall just gives Louis a skeptical look, like he knows Louis is keeping something back and he isn’t going to let them start the _Werewolf High_ stream until Louis spills it.

“And...he’s in love with someone else, alright?” Louis finally says quietly, not meeting Niall’s eyes, but instead curling more tightly around his laptop. “Has been for ages. So it’s not like I have a chance to find out all that stuff that I don’t know. Or...to do anything, really.”

Niall looks like there’s more he wants to discuss, but he finally contents himself with saying “M’sorry, Lou,” and moving the laptop to their feet so Louis can cuddle him instead. Louis is almost proud of him: Niall manages to last for 30 seconds of quiet comforting before he gets impatient and starts whisper-chanting “werewolves, werewolves, werewolves” into Louis’ ear.

Louis laughs and starts the stream, checking his phone for messages from H.

> 10 secs in and we’ve already hit “cryptic message from Principal Carter.” Drink!

***

Harry is rather tipsy when he goes to bed that night. Half the _Werewolf High_ episode had taken place in the wood shop (Drinking Game Rule #5), so he’d been fucked long before Logan had even summoned that shaman (Rule #47). Which is probably the reason it takes him so long to remember the message Tommo had sent him early in the night, when he’d still been moping about Louis, before he’d gotten distracted by a haze of alcohol and helpless laughter at Tommo’s running episode commentary.

When Harry _does_ remember, it’s enough to make him sit up in bed and frown at the far wall. Because Harry isn’t completely oblivious -- he knows Tommo’s message had been an opening, if he’d wanted one. Harry almost wishes he did.

Harry met Tommo soon after Louis. It had been when Louis had first started coming into the coffee shop _constantly_ , until Harry’d been driven almost mad with it. He would pout very elaborately around the shop until Louis finally arrived. Then, he’d get so overwhelmed by the thrum of Louis’ presence, like a bass line in his veins, that he’d forget to actually _talk_ to him. Louis took to sneaking Harry these intense, searching looks that threatened to lay bare every secret that Harry’d been unable to say. And god, did Harry want him to.

But Louis was always with Eleanor. So. Harry mostly hid in the back room instead.

He _had_ allowed himself one thing, one small act of defiance against a generally shitty situation. He’d changed his Tumblr username to _haz-the-bite_. It was a reference to the first conversation he and Louis had ever had, when Louis had asked him if he wanted the Bite, and Harry had itched to answer “yes.” It had felt so daring to even type the name, despite the fact that Louis would never, in a million years, discover it. But it was the only place Harry’d been able to record Louis’ claim on him, the only place it could be real.

So anyway, Harry had changed his username, and Tommo had happened to follow him almost immediately after. He’d actually been Harry’s first new follower after the switch, so it had all felt a bit like fate.

Perhaps that’s why Harry’s brain starts making odd associations between Louis and Tommo. Not anything definite. Just...whenever he tries to picture Tommo in his mind, the figure resolves into a boy with blue eyes and feather-soft hair, and the image has a clarity to it that Harry is unable to shake.

Or perhaps the connection rests less on the timing, and more on the strength of Harry’s feelings for the both of them. After all, Harry is halfway in love with Louis, and Tommo is probably his best friend.

Although, Harry tries not to verbalize his friendship power-rankings too frequently. It always gives him a swoopy, guilty feeling to even think about it. Liam had been his _first_ friend at Uni, after all. He’d been the one to patiently suffer through Harry’s endless mistakes in the first few days at the coffee shop. The one who’d found Harry crying in the loo after Adam had made another remark about Harry’s clothing that he hadn’t been able to shake; who’d hugged Harry through a disgustingly snot-filled coming-out; who listened with a furrowed brow to Harry’s hiccupy confession that “he’s the only person I know here. I haven’t even made friends with _one person_ ;” and who said “yes you have” with a fierce look like he was daring Harry to deny it. Later, when they were curled up on the too-small sofa in the break room and Harry’s face had lost some of it’s splotchiness, Liam had added casually, “Want me to fight him for you? I probably could,” like he was offering to pick up some extra biscuits at the shop. Harry had choked out a laugh, and Liam had looked vaguely hurt by Harry’s reaction, and Harry was suddenly certain that he and Liam would be friends for the rest of their lives.

Which is why Harry often feels an odd urge to apologize to Liam for Tommo’s usurpation. But while Liam loves him, Tommo understands him in a way that Harry still sometimes finds dizzying. Chatting with Tommo is a bit like bouncing around a pinball machine, Harry reckons: fast, unpredictable, and with lots of flashing lights. And Harry loves the thrill of it, almost as much as he loves the way they just fit together instinctively in whatever conversation they’re having.

Not to mention, their _WH_ recaps are fucking _hilarious_.

Liam, if he notices Harry’s cruel betrayal, doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He, in fact, has very decided opinions about Harry and Tommo’s friendship, especially when Harry’s angst over Louis reaches its most melodramatic peaks.

“Why don’t you just date that Tumblr friend of yours?” Liam had asked once. “You’re always rushing off to giggle at his messages in private, like you’re having a wank or something. And, like, you already know you have a lot in common.”

Harry had loftily ignored the middle bit of Liam’s statement, and had actually tried to give it some thought. Because there _was_ a warmth that bloomed in his chest whenever he got a message from Tommo, like each new text was a gift he got to unwrap. Sometimes Harry catches himself wondering who he is -- this wickedly funny boy who actually finds _Harry_ hilarious -- who sees more to him than an awkward kid lurking in the back of a shop. Harry often wonders if they’ll ever meet in real life. And if Harry will recognize Tommo the instant they see each other, like somehow their souls will just _know_.

Or maybe Harry’s soul is shouting “Louis!” too loudly for any other signals to go through.

“I wish I could fall for him,” Harry had sighed to Liam. “It would probably be easier than pining after someone who’s never even looked at me. But when I try to think about Tommo in real life? Like, if I imagine him sending me messages, or us meeting up? I can’t picture anyone but Louis. I’ve tried, but it just...doesn’t work. So I know I’ll only be disappointed when I meet him. And that’s not fair to Tommo, y’know?”

Liam had shaken his head like he thought Harry was being absurd, but his eyes had crinkled fondly at the corners.

“Things would be a lot easier if you weren’t so nice. I hope you’re aware.”

Harry had groaned and run a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Yeah. I know.”

***

Harry is currently wilting behind the coffee shop counter, trying to not to stare too obviously at the table that holds Louis and his friends. Louis and his roommate Niall are laughing over something that, from Eleanor’s fond expression, Harry surmises is a long-running joke between the three of them.

Harry watches the way Louis leans easily into Eleanor’s space, practically in her lap despite the fact that they’re each sitting on separate -- rather rickety -- chairs. One of Louis’ hands is clasping the back of Eleanor’s head to keep them both steady. Harry tries to imagine Louis touching him like that, with warm fingers against the nape of his neck. Harry suspects that if Louis ever _did_ , the traces of his fingerprints would stay pressed into Harry’s skin forever like indelible ink.

Harry imagines that Louis would turn to smile at him like he’s currently smiling at Eleanor, openly and affectionately, their faces close together. And _finally_ , in that moment, all of Louis’ scattered attention would be focused on Harry alone. Harry would be the center of Louis’ whirlwind, not just another object swept along in his wake. Louis’ smile would turn private, then, a repeat of the dark, flirty look he’d given Harry on the day they’d met. His eyes would be full of a promise that would make Harry’s stomach curl with heat. And then Harry would lean towards him --

“Just talk to him.” A quiet voice interrupts Harry’s train of thought. Harry startles and nearly drops the pitcher of iced coffee he’s been unconsciously clutching for the past ten minutes.

“Liam,” he says, identifying the warm, solid presence that has pressed against his side, momentarily annoyed at how breathless his voice sounds. His hands are clenched around the pitcher of coffee, and he has to make a conscious effort to rest it casually against the counter instead. Not that anyone notices. Not that _Louis_ notices.

“I can’t,” Harry tells Liam miserably. “I’ll just cock it up. And he hates me.” 

“He doesn’t hate you,” Liam says. As if on cue, Louis turns toward the counter and gives Harry a dire glare. Harry chuckles a little wetly, and burrows closer into Liam.

“I don’t get it,” Liam mumbles, frowning. “I think you two would get along, I really do. If you just, like, _got to know_ each other.”

“You don’t think I’ve gotten to know him?” Harry asks in a low voice. His eyes are drawn back to Louis, who is quiet for once at his table. The sun is low in the sky, and it shines through the coffee shop window at just the right angle to halo him in light, smudging the angles of his face into soft blends of shadow. Or maybe that softness is just due to his expression, a dreamy smile at the contents of his phone.

“I fucking _rearranged_ my shifts because all I want is to see him _all the time_. So I know a lot, actually,” Harry insists to Liam, trying to keep his tone even. “Like, I know that Louis doesn’t have money to spare, but he still buys Eleanor and Niall’s drinks when they come in. He gets extra loud and annoying so they don’t notice, which is what he always does when he’s about to do something really kind. He teases the people he likes best. Eleanor thinks he doesn’t take their schoolwork seriously, but he does. You can _see_ his mind working, even if it looks to most people like he’s messing about. He drinks buckets of tea because it reminds him of home, and--”

“All right, mate?” Louis’ voice breaks in from across the shop, and Harry cuts off abruptly, his cheeks going crimson. But Louis doesn’t look like he’d heard anything Harry had said. He’s bouncing up to Liam’s side of the counter to exchange a friendly fist-bump.

“Didn’t see you come in, Payno. Your shift start already?”

That’s another thing Harry knows about Louis: he’s managed to befriend literally _everyone_ who works in this shop except for Harry. Even careful Liam, always vaguely suspicious of strangers, has become putty in his hands.

“Oi!” Liam yelps, slapping Louis’ hands away from the espresso maker.

“But I want to _learn_ , Liam,” Louis answers dramatically, draping himself across the counter. “You wouldn’t turn away a _student_.” He rolls onto his back so that he’s staring upside-down at Liam, tilting his chin and batting his lashes in a way that Harry refuses to find effective.

“Why d’you want to know? You don’t even drink coffee,” Liam asks, frowning, but Harry can see his resolve weaken.

“Barista-ing is a valuable skill for a future starving actor,” Louis tells him loftily, his fingers already dancing back toward the buttons.

“Fine!” Liam sighs, practically throwing himself in front of the espresso maker to save it from Louis’ hands of inevitable destruction. Harry lets out a small giggle at that, and Liam’s eyes dart over to him.

“Actually,” Liam says slowly. “I’m meant to be doing inventory now. But Harry can show you!” And Liam turns to Harry with a wide smile.

“Oh,” Louis says, and it’s not exactly subtle, the way his face falls at the suggestion, his previously joking tone replaced with something flatter. He straightens up suddenly from the counter, pulling his arms into his stomach and watching Harry warily.

“Yeah, OK. Ready, Harold?” he asks with a mocking tilt to his head. His blue eyes are cold. And he doesn’t even know Harry’s proper _name_ , jesus.

“It’s Harry, actually,” Harry says lowly, trying to mask the hurt that must be showing on his face.

“I-- Sorry?” Louis looks a little startled, frowning at Harry like he doesn’t quite make sense. And suddenly, now that he actually _has_ Louis’ full attention, Harry can’t stand it. There’s no way he’ll be able to go through a _coffee demonstration_ with that disdainful look directed at him. It would hurt too much.

“And I’m actually about to go on break. So. I can’t help you,” he bursts out, and storms into the break room before either Louis or Liam can respond.

***

“What is _wrong_ with him?” Louis grumbles, making a mess of the sugar in an attempt to relieve some of his frustration about Harry. “I don’t know why you’re friends with him, Liam, he’s so--” but Louis breaks off into a vague hand-wave, at a loss to describe exactly _what_ Harry is.

“Nothing’s wrong with him,” Liam replies a little sharply, as he gathers up the sugar packets that Louis has scattered across the counter. “And you could stand to be nicer.”

“ _Me?_ Didn’t you see what happened? I was trying to be friendly, even gave him a _nickname_ , the ungrateful wanker. Every time I try to talk to him, he’s either glaring at me or fucking off somewhere! The nicest thing he’s ever said to me was that my favorite show was stupid.”

“What?” Liam’s eyes go round and puzzled. “That doesn’t sound like Harry...”

“Well it happened,” Louis mumbles mutinously.

“Look, he’s just shy--” Liam starts, but Louis shakes his head, cutting off whatever excuse Liam was about to make.

“He is _not_ , and you know it. Harry flirts with every single customer who walks in here; they all think he’s so _charming_. He asks after their _dogs_ and shit. It’s just me that--” Louis can feel his voice start to wobble, and so he stops talking abruptly. He bites his lip and looks down at the counter; he doesn’t really want to see whatever look of pity he knows Liam must be directing at him. 

“Whatever,” Louis finally mutters darkly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Lou,” Liam says, drawing out the syllable like he’s hesitant about whether to continue. “About Harry--”

But at that moment, Louis’ phone vibrates in his pocket. He squints down at his notifications, completely tuning out Liam the moment he realizes it’s H.

**haz-the-bite:**

> Are you around? To talk about, like, non-tv stuff?

**terribletommo:**

> Of course, mate. Is something wrong ?

There’s a long pause before H’s next message, long enough for Louis to get a bit worried. He glances up at Liam apologetically.

“Sorry, friend emergency, I think I gotta run.”

Liam waves him away, looking a little relieved at the interruption. Louis stops at his table to gather his things, kissing Eleanor on the crown of her head, accepting her halfhearted swat in return and, at Niall’s indignant noise, rushing back to press an exaggerated, smushed kiss to his cheek as well. By the time Louis manages to actually leave the coffee shop, H has replied.

**haz-the-bite:**

> I’m sorry to bother you.
> 
> It just feels like you might actually know me, better than my in-person friends. Even though we’ve never actually met.
> 
> Sometimes it feels like I have a hard time getting people to see me for real.
> 
> Do you think that’s odd?

**terribletommo:**

> No, I just wish your other friends DID know you this well. You’re worth knowing :)
> 
> Is this about LB ?

**haz-the-bite:**

> No
> 
> Maybe
> 
> I don’t think he even knows my name

**terribletommo:**

> I don’t know your name, and I like you !
> 
> Are you with him now ?

**haz-the-bite:**

> Um
> 
> I might be hiding

**terribletommo:**

> OK, first word of advice : stop hiding from him !! Go out and actually talk to him ! Make damn sure he never forgets your name -- use any tactics necessary. That’s what I would do ;)

**haz-the-bite:**

> I know YOU would. You’re brave.

**terribletommo:**

> You are too, love. Now stop texting me and go find him !!!

***

“Where’s Louis?” Harry asks Liam, slinking back behind the counter a few moments later. He knows he has on that silly half-smile that Liam has taken to calling his “Tommo Face.” Liam would probably be giving him shit about it now, in fact, but he’s particularly intent on whatever latte masterpiece he’s currently constructing for a waiting customer. Liam takes latte art very seriously.

“There you go,” he tells the young girl whose coffee it is, brow still furrowed in concentration as he passes a slightly lopsided Captain America shield off to her. “Keep that away from HYDRA, mind.”

The girl carries the cup reverently to her table, and Liam finally looks over to Harry.

“Rushed off just after you did. Said something about a friend needing help. You all right, Hazza?” Liam gives Harry a look of concern, and Harry gives him a wobbly smile back. He tries to recall the sense of weightless confidence he’d felt when Tommo had told him he was brave, but it’s gone just as quickly as Louis himself. Harry suspects he’ll never _actually_ find the chance to have a proper conversation with Louis, whatever Tommo says. It’s clear that the fates are against them, and he’s doomed to stare dopily at Louis from afar until one of them leaves school and never returns.

“Of _course_ he was doing something for a friend. Why is he such a bloody good person?” is all Harry grumbles, when it’s clear that Liam is still waiting for a verbal response. He hates the way his voice can sound both besotted and pouty at the same time.

Liam opens his mouth with a frown, but Harry’s phone goes off before Liam has a chance to speak.

**terribletommo:**

> Let me know how it goes xx

Harry turns his phone face-down on the counter, suddenly feeling small and useless. For perhaps the first time ever, he doesn’t want to talk to Tommo, especially if it means admitting he’s let another chance with Louis pass by. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. It suddenly feels small and too warm in the coffee shop, like Harry can’t quite catch his breath. Before he can talk himself out of it, tell himself he’s being a baby, he bursts out:

“Liam, can you finish the shift on your own? I just...I suddenly don’t feel well.”

“Course,” Liam says promptly, his eyes filled with warm concern. It just makes Harry feel worse. He hurries to collect his things from the break room, mind scattered enough that he misses both the quiet, unreadable stare that Liam is directing at him, and the fact that his phone is still sitting on the counter.

***

Louis doesn’t really expect a response to his last message right away. After all, H needs time to actually _talk_ to this guy, and he _is_ technically at work. Not that H ever seems to do much at work besides pine after LB and send Louis endless gifs of kittens sneezing. After a few hours, however, Louis is starting to become moderately concerned. He tries to remember the last time they’d gone this long without talking to each other, and he can’t. Which...is perhaps worrying for a whole set of other reasons. No doubt Niall will have some incisive and scathing commentary to offer on the subject. But Louis pushes that upcoming crisis out of his mind for now, focusing instead on composing a follow-up text or two. That receive no response from H. 

And that’s when the worst-case scenarios start clattering through his mind. Perhaps Louis’ advice was terrible -- it’s not like he’s any expert on good relationship decisions -- and H hates him for leading him astray. Or LB was so awful to him that he’s holed up somewhere, alone and crying. Or, perhaps worst of all, what if Louis’ advice had actually _worked_? What if H is too busy snogging LB to spare a thought for Louis? What if H is so happy with LB that he leaves Louis behind?

The thought settles heavily in the pit of Louis’ stomach and stays there. He tries to distract himself by putting together his and H’s newest _Werewolf High_ recap, but going back through their chat logs just makes him feel worse. Will they even watch _WH_ together anymore, or will H watch it in person with his new boyfriend?

In a fit of frustrated despair, Louis does the only thing absolutely _guaranteed_ to make him feel better: he starts planning a prank on Liam.

He’s already done several. Not to mention made such a general nuisance of himself in the coffee shop that Liam doesn’t even rebuke him for half the shit he pulls anymore, just gives him a resigned look and leaves him to it. Louis suspects that Liam has recruited Niall in some grand retaliatory scheme, as Liam is the sort to ruminate on revenge for weeks until he comes up with something excessive, at which point you’d forgotten what you’d done to deserve it. Whereas Louis goes in more for small, devastating strikes.

Which is how he ends up spending most of his Friday night watching YouTube videos on how to reprogram a receipt printer to say “Your barista’s favorite part of Harry Potter was the epilogue.” Psychological warfare, that’s the Tommo way.

Louis checks his phone again. Still nothing from H. Louis feels a nervous, buzzing energy under his skin, like he’ll go mad in his tiny, cluttered room if he doesn’t find _something_ to do instead. And breaking into Liam’s place of business seems as good a choice as any.

“Right,” he mutters, grabbing his keys and a dark hoodie from the floor of his room. 

On the walk to the coffee shop, Louis realizes it actually isn’t a terrible plan. It’s 11 o’clock on a Friday night, the shop had closed ages ago, it’s already dark, and there are so many students out doing reckless things, who will mind one more? Louis is actually feeling pretty pleased with himself by the time he slips around the back of the shop. He already knows from past experience how easy it is to break in: the loading door has a keypad rather than a physical lock, and the code is Liam’s birthday. Sweet, trusting Liam.

Louis might be slightly concerned about these lax security measures, except that in the months he’d been studying there, he’d never once seen the owner of the shop take the least bit of interest in it. They seem satisfied with allowing a handful of sketchily trained student employees free reign, and Louis suspects that as long as he doesn’t actually burn anything to the ground, the mysterious owner will be perfectly content.

In fact, the only space Louis _hasn’t_ managed to infiltrate is the employee break room, which is locked with a separate key, and which Liam and Harry have both been oddly cagey about. Louis has taken to proposing increasingly wild theories about what they keep back there, just to make Liam flush at the accusation that he runs an exotic salami smuggling ring.

Louis makes a note to himself that his next project will _definitely_ involve this elusive break room.

For now, Louis is content to sneak easily from the loading dock into the main shop. The front window is large enough that Louis can’t turn on the lights without being spotted, so he settles for dragging the receipt machine down behind the counter and using his phone as a flashlight. He’s so intent on finding some way to position the light that doesn’t involve sticking the phone in his mouth, that he almost doesn’t hear the bell on the front door jingle, signaling that someone with a proper key has just opened it. Louis freezes, which naturally means that he knocks his phone to the floor again, and sends it skittering loudly across the tiles.

“Hello?” a tentative voice calls out.

“Shit,” Louis whispers automatically, and then winces as he hears his voice echo through the empty shop, totally giving away his hiding place. “Shit,” he repeats, louder. Because the damage is done and it makes him feel better.

“Louis?” the voice asks uncertainly. Louis sighs and pokes his head out from under the counter. It’s Harry staring back at him, wide-eyed in the dark, his hand frozen in place on a light switch. Of _course_ it’s fucking Harry. Louis can’t escape him during business hours, why would 11pm be any different?

“What are you even doing here this late?” Louis asks automatically.

“Lost my phone, been looking for it everywhere,” Harry mumbles, ducking his head a bit. Then he pauses and squints back up at Louis. “Wait. What are _you_ doing here?”

“Uh. Nothing?” Louis tries. And this is the part where Harry will scowl and kick him unceremoniously out of the shop. If only Louis hadn’t spent _quite_ so many hours memorizing YouTube tutorials, he might be prepared to accept this fate with better grace.

“I wouldn’t, like...tell,” is what Harry says instead, frowning and staring at his feet. It’s so surprising that Louis does an actual double-take, like he’s a cartoon. Louis squints at Harry, unsuccessfully trying to read his expression in the still-darkened coffee shop.

Harry takes a couple hesitant steps toward the counter, emerging further out of the shadows. Now Louis can see a slight smile on his face, the glimmer of humor in his eyes as he continues:

“I have a condition, though.”

_There it is_ , Louis thinks. A series of potential requests flit through his mind: leave the shop never to return; never speak to Harry again; never speak _at all_ ; order only horribly expensive sugar drinks in place of tea. Ugh, this ill-conceived prank may _actually_ kill him.

“Can I help? With whatever you’re doing?” Harry blurts out, and then watches Louis’ face carefully, biting his lip like he’s already regretting the question. Louis finds his eyes drawn to the way Harry’s pink, full, bottom lip catches between his teeth. He unconsciously licks his own lips, suddenly hit with the desire to know what Harry’s mouth would feel like against his, how it would feel if Louis was the one biting down just as firmly...

Harry makes a small, frustrated movement with his hands, and the spell is broken. Louis looks up, his face flushing a bit as he meets Harry’s eyes and tries to act like he hasn’t just spent the last thirty seconds staring at his mouth.

“Never mind,” Harry says, face falling a bit, and Louis frowns. He blames Harry’s unnaturally adorable face for his own sudden spike of guilt, despite the fact that Harry’s done absolutely nothing to warrant sympathy. Harry’s face gives him an unfair advantage, is what it does.

“No, fuck, it’s fine,” Louis finds himself saying. “I just expected worse. Like, put a hundred quid in the tip jar or something.”

Harry lights up, and Louis _refuses_ to find it cute.

“I would never,” he tells Louis innocently. “The tip jar is sacred. And you’re only s’posed to tip for _exceptional service_.”

Louis wonders if he’s imagining the low, cheeky way Harry’s voice drags out the last few words. Because there’s no _way_ that the World’s Mopiest Barista would deign to _flirt_ with him. Louis must be hearing things. He chuckles awkwardly.

“If you help me with this bloody printer, you might earn it after all.”

“What are you doing anyway?” Harry asks, crossing the coffee shop to lean conspiratorially against the counter.

“Are you stealing the receipt printer? Is this a stick-up?” he whispers, eyes wide and earnest, and Louis is shocked into a loud bark of laughter.

“Bring out all your Yorkshire tea, and be quick about it,” he commands in a horrible imitation of an American gangster accent.

“I knew your addiction would lead to a life of crime,” Harry retorts, dimples out in full force, and it’s like the first day they’d met all over again, before Harry had turned out to be a rude asshole with terrible taste in television. It makes Louis feel impulsive. Like in that moment, either of them could be anyone they wanted.

Louis gropes behind his back, fingers connecting with a bottle of vanilla flavoring syrup.

“Don’t be a hero, Mister!” he insists, still in the bad accent, reaching over the counter to hold the syrup bottle over Harry’s head.

“You wouldn’t,” Harry says slowly, giggles fading as he eyes the bottle. And Louis is acting almost completely on instinct now, driven primarily by a vague sense that he doesn’t want Harry to ignore him any more. He wants Harry to keep laughing.

So he punches down on the syrup nozzle, _hard._

It’s almost like slow-motion: the long splash of syrup, Harry’s widening eyes, his unsuccessful attempt to dodge the vanilla-scented flavoring bursting across his shirt. And then there’s a brief moment of calm, where Harry stares at Louis and Louis stares back.

Louis has _absolutely_ gone too far. And he’s just opened his mouth to say as much, the stumbled words of an apology already on his tongue, when he realizes that Harry has started moving, his long baby-giraffe legs carrying him fully around the counter before Louis has had a chance to say anything. Louis only stares, his mouth hanging open stupidly, as Harry pulls a canister of whipped cream out from under the counter.

“Harry, wait--” Louis starts weakly, but it’s too late. Harry gives him a wide, angelic smile before he sprays whipped cream directly at the center of Louis’ chest. And then he’s darting away through the coffee shop, cackling wildly as he runs.

“You little _shit_ ,” Louis breathes, and chases after. Harry’s legs are longer, but Louis can easily maneuver around tables while Harry stumbles against every single one, cursing quite inventively.

“Mother of goats?” Louis giggles, after Harry topples face-first over a stool, taking his time while Harry is distracted to sneak up behind him with the syrup bottle.

“I ran out of the real ones,” Harry pants, red-faced from the stool mishap, and blindly spraying whipped cream in wild arcs. He manages to hit everything else within a four-foot radius except for Louis himself. Louis considers the situation, his head cocked, and presses a splatter of vanilla straight onto the whipped cream bottle in Harry’s hand. Like a syrup-slinging Spiderman, he is.

Harry squeaks and wipes his sticky arm frantically down his front, until his brain seems to catch up with what the rest of him has been doing.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Harry bites out, pulling his hand away and staring down at his mess of a shirt.

“Oh, _now_ you’re not too posh for a good ‘fuck,’” Louis informs him cheekily, but Harry’s head shoots up at the comment.

“Never too posh for that,” Harry says, his eyes darkening as they hold Louis’, and there’s a sudden tension in the lines of his body, a sudden heat to his voice that sounds thrillingly close to a promise. Louis swallows, his brain working furiously to come up with a clever response that isn’t a variation on “yes, please.”

But then Harry breaks their eye contact, laughing slightly, and finally manages to actually _hit_ Louis with the whipped cream.

“You _distracted_ me!” Louis yelps, unable to tell if he’s feeling more offended or proud.

“You’re going down, Styles,” he vows, and throws syrup-precision to the wind. Harry squeaks again and starts running, darting around to avoid the barrage of syrup that’s flying every which way, but it’s not long before Louis has him cornered against a stack of chairs.

“Nooo,” Harry moans, brandishing the whipped cream but giggling too helplessly to aim it properly, the bottle making angry hissing noises but not actually spraying anything. And Louis is more focused on Harry, anyway, on his bright eyes and flushed cheeks, on the curls that bounce across his shoulders as he shakes his head, on his long fingers prodding at Louis ineffectually.

Louis has somehow managed to get syrup all over himself while losing the syrup bottle in the process, and now, with a triumphant grin, he grabs at the sides of Harry’s face. His fingers smear syrup across Harry’s cheeks and through his hair.

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry whines, trying to wriggle away, but Louis realizes abruptly that his sticky hands are already hopelessly tangled into Harry’s curls. If Harry moves away too quickly, he’s likely to hurt himself. So Louis acts entirely on instinct, pressing closer to gain more leverage in their tussle, crowding Harry against the chairs behind them.

Harry’s whole body stills.

Louis becomes acutely aware of how close together they’re standing. Neither of them had ever thought to turn on a light, and in the dark, the details of Harry’s face have become hazy and unreadable. Shadows catch on his eyelashes, accentuate the dip of his lips, create new contours to his cheekbones. Harry’s hands are trapped between their chests, still clutching the whipped cream canister in a suddenly tight grip.

It’s like they’re stuck in a bubble out-of-time, no sound but the rapid thud of Harry’s heartbeat pressed against Louis. It all feels so fragile -- Harry’s wide eyes; the way his body curves into Louis’ -- and Louis doesn’t want to force himself back to reality. But Harry is staring down at Louis like he’s a wild animal about to bolt, and it’s Harry’s evident alarm about the situation that finally prompts Louis to act.

“Don’t move,” he commands, slightly shocked at the low, rough way his voice comes out. And it’s a stupid thing to say, anyway, because he could swear Harry hasn’t so much as blinked this entire time. But at Louis voice, Harry takes in a gasping breath, and Louis cups his chin in what he hopes is a soothing gesture.

“Good lad,” he says quietly. “I’ll get this sorted. Don’t worry, love.” The endearment slips out automatically, and Louis refuses to over-think it.

_I call everyone “love.” I call_ Niall _“love,”_ Louis reminds himself stubbornly.

But it’s a difficult thing to remember when Harry’s body has gone oddly soft and pliant against him, and he’s staring down at Louis’ mouth like he’s entranced, unconsciously sucking in his bottom lip like he was born to drive Louis _mad._

Louis keeps his eyes averted from Harry’s face and tries not to let his hands shake as he carefully, gently disentangles them from Harry’s curls. He can hear Harry’s ragged breathing as he works, can feel Harry tilting his head back to rest against the stack of chairs, leaving the long line of his throat exposed.

Louis can’t bear to look, but he also can’t stop himself from letting the pads of his fingers brush soft touches across Harry’s neck. He tells himself it’s accidental -- a necessity of the task at hand -- but really, it’s like feeding an addiction, to feel the way Harry shivers at every graze of Louis’ hand against his skin. Or the small, muffled gasps Harry lets out whenever Louis tugs at his hair a little too sharply.

God, why does Harry have to be so fucking _hot_? How did an innocent whipped cream fight between pals go so _wrong_?

Harry’s hair is a mess when Louis finishes, still sticky with syrup and fluffed out at odd angles. Louis imagines that this is what Harry must look like when he’s just woken up, quiet and disheveled, and it’s an oddly intimate thought. It makes him want to run his hands back through Harry’s hair, but he contents himself instead with an awkward pat of Harry’s shoulder and a glance back up at his face. Which, Louis realizes instantly, is a mistake. Harry’s still draped against the chairs like a languid _Vogue_ model, his green eyes glassy and a deep flush dusting his cheeks. But what really gets Louis is the dazed expression on Harry’s face, like he’s about two seconds away from coming apart in Louis’ hands.

_You can’t just_ look _at a person like that_ , Louis decides furiously, even as he himself can’t drag his eyes away.

Neither of them move for a long moment, each staring at the other. Harry’s lips part slightly, and he tilts his head with a sort of suppressed nervousness. It’s very clear that Harry is about to kiss him.

Louis can’t explain why -- he actually hates his brain for ruining what he’s _positive_ would’ve been a searingly hot kiss -- but in that moment, he suddenly thinks of H. His own lovely, dorky, bright-hearted boy. Whom Louis has never met. Whom Louis doesn’t stand a chance with. Whom Louis maybe loves anyway, as stupid as that is.

Some of Louis’ thoughts must show on his face, because Harry falters. And Louis steps back.

“There. You’re free of me!” he says brightly, and tries to ignore the unhappy fluttering of his stomach when Harry’s face falls. Louis casts his eyes around desperately for some path back to normalcy, and that’s when he notices the mess they’ve made. In their mad dash through the shop, they’ve managed to spread syrup and whipped cream everywhere, not to mention overturned several tables and chairs. The whipped cream has thoroughly melted, sending sad rivulets of milk down the sides of the counter, while Louis can make out a sticky trail of his shoe prints on the floor. He lets out a low whistle.

“Maybe I shouldn’t actually finish the prank; leaving all this for Liam may be punishment enough.”

“You’re going to prank Liam?” Harry asks, sounding delighted, and Louis risks another glance at him. Whatever odd moment they’d just shared seems completely forgotten. Instead, Harry is clasping his hands together tightly like he’s captured his own excitement between them.

“ _We_ are,” Louis reminds him grandly.

“Oh,” Harry falters, his face flushing again. “I didn’t think--” He makes an odd gesture at the stack of chairs like Louis is supposed to understand what that means; the worst part is, Louis suspects he does.

_I’m sorry for making it weird_ , Louis silently tells Harry. But what he actually says out loud, with a deliberately light voice, is:

“You’re not going back on our bargain, are you, Curly?”

“What’s ‘Curly?’ Like, my code name?” Harry asks slowly and very seriously, and Louis can’t help but be endeared.

“If you think we need code names, you’re going to be rather disappointed at the scope of this project,” Louis teases, reaching out to tug at a strand of Harry’s hair. Harry hums and grins at him, unbothered. “I just wanted to make the customer receipts print shocking things about Liam’s book tastes. And find a mop for this floor, I suppose.” Louis regards the mess of the floor with some distaste.

“Every mission needs code names, Lou,” Harry tells him staunchly, and Louis feels tendrils of something warm curl in his chest at the nickname. He laughs breezily to hide it.

“Alright, well, I came up with yours. So it’s only fair that you do mine.”

There’s a small pause.

“I already know what yours is,” Harry says, but the tone of his voice has gone a bit odd.

“Yeah?” Louis waits, but Harry’s face has clouded over and he ducks his head.

“Um. I can’t tell you though.” Harry’s words come out slowly and reluctantly, like he hadn’t actually meant to reveal so much. Louis laughs again.

“You’re very odd, Curly, did you know that?” He pokes at Harry’s cheek, right where Harry’s dimple would be, and it has the desired effect: a wide, helpless smile spreads over Harry’s face.

“Now then. About this printer...”

With Harry there to hold Louis’ phone flashlight, he gets the receipt printer sorted almost immediately. Harry even finds his own phone, which Liam must have stashed under the counter before closing. Harry only notices it because he keeps flicking the light up into Louis’ eyes while laughing quietly to himself, and Louis keeps elbowing him in the side while telling him to quit it, and their combined flailing manages to knock the phone off the shelf. But the relevant detail is: Harry would never have found his phone if not for Louis. So really, this prank is already paying off.

_Tommo 1; Payno 0_ , Louis thinks with some glee.

His satisfaction turns to dread, however, when Louis turns to the rest of the shop. He’s expecting the clean-up to be awful. With so many younger siblings, he’s cleaned up a lifetime’s worth of sticky spills, and in Louis’ experience, it’s almost _always_ awful. But Harry doesn’t seem to mind. He simply trots away to retrieve the cleaning supplies from the back, and then starts sponging off a table, humming a little tune as he works. When Louis asks about it, Harry informs him casually that it’s a “scrubbing song,” like that’s a perfectly normal thing for a person to have. He’s making up lyrics, too, Louis realizes after a while, happy rhymes mumbled under his breath about bubbles and sparkles. It makes Louis feel a little dizzy with _something_ he’s not at all prepared to examine. To distract himself, he makes a game of diverting Harry’s lyrics into innuendo, singing loudly over the ends of whatever innocent rhyme Harry had attempted to construct. His reward is a giggly “ _Lou_ -is” and a flick of Harry’s sponge. The dizziness doesn’t fade.

In fact, Louis decides as he walks home -- covered in an unholy combination of coffee flavorings and soapy water -- perhaps curly-haired TV snobs aren’t so bad after all. Certainly better than he could’ve imagined at the beginning of the night, sitting in his bedroom waiting for any word from H.

As Louis is about to climb into bed, he notices he’s actually gotten a message from H at some point in the evening. Just a quick “We’re actually talking! You’re the best at giving advice, thank you! xxx” but it’s enough to give Louis a warm glow in the center of his chest that stays there as he falls asleep.

***

“Status report, Curly?” is the first thing Louis says to Harry the next morning, slinking into the coffee shop at a respectable 10am, dressed in all black, with sunglasses on inside and a dark beanie pulled low over his forehead. He’d circled the counter lazily, staking it out, observing Liam for a few quiet moments, before sidling up next to Harry.

“Are you in _disguise_?” Harry asks.

“Thought you’d like that.” Louis shoots him a small smile and taps Harry’s hip twice, comfortably, like it’s a code he already expects Harry to understand. Harry forces himself not to lean into the touch, although he can still feel the shockwaves of Louis’ fingers resonating through the layers of his jumper, even after Louis pulls his arm away. He rests his chin between his hands instead, elbows splayed on the counter and looking deceptively innocent.

“You wanted a proper mission,” Louis reminds him with a wink. Harry ducks his head, trying to hide the silly, pleased smile that blooms across his face at the prospect of Louis choosing his outfit this morning to make Harry laugh.

_It doesn’t mean anything_ , Harry reminds himself sternly. _Louis loves to make people happy, he’d do it for anyone._

Louis had made it perfectly clear last night that he’s not interested in Harry. Even though it had been pure torture to have Louis pressed that close against him with nowhere for Harry to run.

As a general fact of, like, _math and logic,_ Harry knows that Louis is physically smaller than him, but it never feels that way. Louis’ presence grows to fill whatever space he finds himself in, like oxygen diffusing through a room with quick movements and loud laughter. And Harry has never felt that fact so keenly as last night, when Louis’d had him pinned against the stack of chairs, and he’d been swallowed up by a refrain of _Louislouislouis_ until his body hadn’t remembered how to survive on its own. Louis’ hands were sending sparks racing across his skin, and Louis’ smell was filling up his lungs. Harry felt like he was irrevocably tangled up in Louis now, his own heartbeats like mere echoes of another person’s rhythm. The feeling had frightened Harry enough to focus on pulling the tattered remnants of himself back together piece by piece, breath by breath.

And by the time he’d thought to ask for more -- for a taste, for the chance to touch back, for forever -- Louis had already started moving away.

“Well? Don’t hold out on your partner in crime.” Back in the present, Louis’ voice is light, but there’s an uncertain tilt to his head as he looks up at Harry. Harry instantly feels frustrated with himself for letting his unruly feelings distract him from the real Louis, the one who’s finally here in front of him, smiling and perfect and waiting for his response. None of Harry’s disappointment is Louis’ fault, he reminds himself. And no matter what, Harry will always have those few stolen moments in the dark. That’ll have to be enough.

“Is Liam angry? Has he noticed?” Louis pursues, and glances around the shop like he thinks Liam might pop out from under a table at any moment.

“I actually kept a record?” Harry admits, pulling a small, battered notebook out of his pocket and flipping to the latest entry.

_7:14 - Customer gave Liam strange look. Liam confused. Coincidence? Further observation needed._

_7:32 - Customer looked at receipt and laughed. Liam still confused._

_7:36..._

Louis scans the book with a worryingly blank expression on his face, and Harry starts to fidget.

“Oh my God, this goes on for ages. You are _so weird_ ,” Louis finally bursts out, making Harry wince and rush to explain, stumbling over his words.

“I wanted to document our exploits. Like. If we have more exploits...”

“‘Course we will,” Louis says absently, still flipping through Harry’s notes, thankfully unaware of the stupid grin Harry’s currently struggling to suppress. 

“ _9:47 - Customer glared at Liam, said “you monster,” and stormed out. Liam even more confused_ ,” Louis reads aloud, cackling. “Did that really happen?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs happily at the memory. “Should’ve seen the look on his face, it was brilliant. Like a sad puppy.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry notices some small commotion at the register. He turns toward it more fully, just in time to see a chuckling customer show Liam her receipt, and Liam’s head instantly whip toward them, his eyes wide and betrayed.

“ _Lewis_ , you little --” Liam yelps. He abandons the counter and advances on the both of them, something uncharacteristically dangerous in the tension of his shoulders. Louis must notice it too, because he lets out a small squeak and starts backing away, tugging Harry along with him. And suddenly Harry’s not attending to Liam at all, entirely too caught up in the light pressure of Louis’ fingers circling his wrist.

“You told everyone my favorite part was the epilogue? Is nothing _sacred_ to you?” Liam is saying, his voice a little distorted by the pounding heartbeat in Harry’s ears.

“What, like satisfying narrative closure?” Louis smirks, blue eyes twinkling.

“I _hate_ the epilogue! And I hate _you_!” Liam practically howls, launching himself at the both of them. Louis immediately shoves himself between Liam and Harry, knocking Harry backwards so quickly that he stumbles against a table, and shouting, “Run, Curly, save yourself!” before letting out a bloodcurdling war cry.

Harry feels something warm swoop in his stomach at the knowledge that Louis’ first instinct was to defend him, but he doesn’t have the time to fully examine it before a flailing ball of Louis-and-Liam is collapsing against him.

“Never leave a man behind, Lou,” Harry says serenely, and dumps a jar of stirring sticks over Liam’s head.

“ _Traitor_!” Liam tweaks one of Harry’s nipples roughly before turning back to Louis. He already seems to know where Louis is most ticklish, poking along his side until Louis is stumbling and giggly. Louis burrows into Harry in an attempt to escape Liam, his fingers clutching helplessly at the fabric of Harry’s jumper. Harry puts an arm tight around Louis’ shoulders, trying to shield him from Liam’s unrelenting attacks. He’s laughing too, and his skin is buzzing, feeling so light and bubbly that he reckons he could just float away, carrying Louis along with him.

In an instant, Louis has twisted out of Harry’s grasp and darted around Liam, toward the front of the shop where Eleanor and Niall are standing. Harry can’t remember them coming in, but they must have, because suddenly it’s Eleanor that Louis is hiding behind, face peeking out from behind her shoulder.

“You’ll never catch me now,” Louis crows, his laughter turned mocking, and as Harry falls back to earth with a sick thud, there’s a brief moment where he thinks Louis is speaking to him.

“Just...think of all the _people_ , walking around in the world, believing I love the Harry Potter epilogue! I don’t think I can go out in public ever again...oh my god.”

“You’ll have to change your name, I suspect,” Louis offers airily, still from behind Eleanor.

“And your address,” Eleanor adds, clearly confused as to the context, but falling instantly into the pattern of Louis’ banter. Harry, as usual, puts a concerted effort into not hating her.

“Maybe leave the country, strike out for the New World,” Louis agrees.

“Shut up, this is serious,” Liam mumbles.

Eleanor opens her mouth again, probably to say something brilliant and witty that will delight Louis. But suddenly, to Harry’s horror, he finds that he’s the one talking.

“Their ship name is ASS,” is what Harry’s mouth, in its infinite wisdom, decides to blurt out. Everyone -- Louis, Eleanor, Liam, Niall, several scandalized strangers -- turn slowly to stare at him. Harry’s face is burning, but there’s nothing for it now. He’s got to push forward.

“I mean. Like, Harry and Malfoy’s kids? In the epilogue? Their names are Albus Severus and Scorpius, right? And on the internet, their ship name is...uh...”

There’s something unreadable shimmering in the blue of Louis’ eyes, his lips pressed firmly together like he’s biting down on a dozen possible comments, and Harry blinks down at the floor.

“How d’you know that?” is what Louis finally settles upon, a little strangled. It’s much more benign than Harry’d expected, but it still feels somehow like he’s navigating a minefield. A frequent sensation in conversations with Louis, Harry has realized.

Harry must take too long to answer, because Louis is pressing the point now, the wobbliness of his voice settling into a more familiar teasing tone. Niall, meanwhile, is swiveling his head between the two of them, his mouth slightly open, like it’s the most fascinating tennis match he’s ever seen.

“Are you an ASS-shipper, Curly? Write a lot of fanfiction about ASS, do you?” There’s laughter bubbling up in Louis’ voice, and Harry is _really sick_ of looking stupid in front of Louis, but there’s also something about the way Louis’ mouth is curving salaciously around the word “ass” that has the temperature of the room rocketing up by at least ten degrees and has Harry’s jumper feeling tight and itchy against his skin. He’s trying desperately not to flick his eyes down to Louis’ own arse, which is swaying a bit as he leans on the back of Eleanor’s shoulders.

“Not interested,” Harry forces out, because if Louis keeps talking and everyone else keeps staring, Harry thinks he might genuinely snap.

“Oh,” Louis says, and Harry must be imagining the flash of disappointment that crosses his face, because he’s laughing again as he says, “Too bad. You should try it sometime, might find it more _interesting_ than you think.”

And like Louis’ words had flicked some sort of switch, Harry is abruptly furious. Louis _knows_ how he feels. Harry’d made a complete tit of himself in this _very_ spot just last night, and for Louis to snuggle up against Eleanor as he mocks Harry, it just...it isn’t fair.

“I doubt it,” Harry says shortly, and turns away from Louis to Liam. He has a sudden, hectic desire for Liam to protect him. And Liam must see something pleading in Harry’s expression, because he jolts to life as well.

“Well, thanks for ruining my childhood, lads. But me ‘n’ Harry should probably get back to work.”

“Us too,” Eleanor adds, poking Louis in the side to drive him toward a table. “That is why we came, remember? To do homework?”

Harry can feel Louis’ eyes on him, but he refuses to look up and meet them, and after a short pause, Louis says: “Yeah, homework. Right. Sorry, El.”

The rest of his shift, Harry doesn’t look over at their table once.

***

“I hate him!” Louis slams into his and Niall’s flat later that afternoon. “I can’t believe I forgot what a... _wanker_ he can be.”

“Wanker eh? What language,” Niall chides dryly, putting down his own satchel a little more carefully, and Louis snorts at Niall’s retreating back. “Who are we even talking about?” Niall calls out from the kitchen.

“Harry, of course!” Louis huffs. “If I hate him _extra_ for a bit, d’you reckon that makes up for lost time?”

“Hate, yeah,” Niall chortles, coming back from the kitchen to offer Louis a crisp. “That’s definitely what you were doing when we arrived at the shop. _Hating_ him.”

“That’s not--” Louis starts, but Niall cuts him off with a gleefully loud crunch of his crisp.

“And after that? Innuendo and sticking your bum out so far it could’ve been a yoga pose? Was that hate, too?”

“ _No,_ but you don’t--”

“You forget, Lou, I’ve seen all your moves,” Niall tells him. “You _like_ him,” he concludes, crooning and ruffling Louis’ hair.

“Well since you’re so bloody observant, no doubt you saw the way it ended,” Louis mumbles, ducking out from under Niall’s destructive hands. But Niall stops him before he can flee to his room.

“Hey. What about that Tumblr boy, then?”

Louis grins at him. “You’re right. H is a good friend. He’ll listen to my _perfectly justified_ complaints, and not _mock me cruelly_ or ask _stupid questions_. Thanks, Ni!” Louis flutters his hand cheerfully before slamming his door, laughing a bit as Niall’s outraged “That’s not what I meant!” floats through the wall.

Louis throws himself dramatically on his own bed and pulls out his phone. He’d been joking before, but it is true that H gives good advice.

**terribletommo:**

> OK, my turn for non-tv drama. Although I warn you, it’s a lot stupider than yours

H’s response comes back almost immediately.

**haz-the-bite:**

> You’re never stupid. What’s up?

**terribletommo:**

> There’s this guy I know, right ? And he’s always been a proper arsehole who REALLY didn’t like me. Which, like, whatever
> 
> But we spent some time together lately just the two of us, and turns out he’s actually pretty cool, and it seemed like maybe he wanted to be friends ? Like I said, stupid

**haz-the-bite:**

> It’s really not. So?

**terribletommo:**

> I don’t know. The minute we were around other people, like my friends, things went back to the way they were. Like, awkward and rude. I kept making these DUMB jokes just to get him to laugh, but it made everything worse.
> 
> It’s like he was embarrassed to be seen talking to me, or something. He just pretended I didn’t exist.

**haz-the-bite:**

> Well...you know, he doesn’t really sound like a nice person

**terribletommo says:**

> Yeah. So how pathetic am I, for feeling bad that a shit person doesn’t like me ? Why do I even care ?
> 
> What about me is so awful ?

Louis types and erases the last message several times before finally huffing in frustration and sending it. It may be quite needy, but it’s not like anyone else is giving him much personal validation right now.

**haz-the-bite:**

> Nothing!!! You’re perfect! And anyone who can’t see that is an idiot

Louis had known H would say something along those lines, but it doesn’t make him feel better in the way he’d expected. Instead it just hits home to him, abruptly, how wrong H must be. Louis knows he makes friends easily, knows in an abstract way that he enjoys being the center of attention, and it’s never anything he consciously _works at_. But now there are two people in his life whose attention and affection he’s truly chasing after. He wants H to love him, and for whatever stupid, inexplicable reason, he wants to make Harry smile. And instead, Louis hasn’t managed either.

Feeling very sorry for himself, Louis wanders into Niall’s room. Niall is lying on his stomach on the floor as the tinny sounds of battle emanate from his Nintendo.

“How much bigger does the sign have to be, to get you to actually knock?” Niall asks absently, his tongue sticking out in concentration at the game. And then, to Louis’ eternal embarrassment, he actually _sniffles_ , causing Niall to glance up. For some reason, it’s Niall’s look of vague alarm that does it, and before he can pull himself together, tears are rolling down his cheeks.

“Come on, then,” Niall offers, tugging at Louis leg until Louis sinks to the floor beside him, rolling onto his back. They lie there together for a moment, listening to Louis’ choky little half-sobs and the musical death throes of Niall’s video game character.

“It would be nice if just once, someone would like me back,” Louis finally mumbles up at Niall’s ceiling. 

Niall doesn’t actually answer, but he _does_ gather Louis closer to him until Louis’ face is lodged somewhere near his armpit, and he pats Louis’ hair awkwardly, and he makes this weird humming noise with his throat that’s oddly soothing. In its own Niall-ish way.

***

Louis avoids both Harry and H for the next week or so. He recognizes that it’s not the healthiest long-term solution, but it does have the benefit of feeling _really excellent_ in the short-term. Avoiding Harry also necessitates avoiding Eleanor. Because unlike Niall, who never wants to verbalize anything but seems to magically understand it all anyway, Eleanor would have a million questions about why Louis suddenly wants to switch study spots, none of which he really feels like answering.

So Louis feigns illness with Eleanor to avoid working on this week’s lighting lab, and he feigns schoolwork with H to avoid their usual _Werewolf High_ drinking date. Instead, Louis watches this week’s episode of _Werewolf High_ alone with Niall. Niall laughs even louder at every one of Logan’s pratfalls, and Louis makes even more sarcastic comments than usual, and it’s not quite enough to paper over the gap of a third person.

“That was a bit shit, wasn’t it?” Niall says after the episode is over, both of them snuggled together in Louis’ dark bedroom.

“Yeah,” Louis answers quietly.

The next morning, when Louis’ phone vibrates, he feels a small spike of hope that it might be H. It’s not, but the actual message makes him blink at his screen for a solid fifteen seconds before sitting up in bed.

**Grimmy:**

> Brace yourself. I’m about to ask for an enormous favour

Nick Grimshaw is _Werewolf High_ ’s social media manager. Louis would literally cut off his own arms before saying such to Nick’s face, but he’s actually quite good with Tumblr. He makes friends easily -- Louis suspects that Nick and H talk quite a lot, actually -- and he can always be counted on to revive the fandom when its energy is flagging, even if it means goading Louis into saying something controversial. Louis sometimes suspects that the fandom gets more entertainment from his and Nick’s cheerful skirmishes than from the show itself. 

Their first run-in had been after a (somewhat heated) ask Louis had sent to the official Tumblr, complaining about a plot hole in the latest episode. Nick had responded publicly, with an elaborately constructed metaphor suggesting delicately that Louis’ head was up his own arse. Louis had reblogged with his equally delicate insinuations about the size of Nick’s Tumblr header, and they’ve been friends ever since.

Even so, Louis is absolutely certain that Nick has never asked him for a favor before.

**terribletommo:**

> Be still my beating heart

**Grimmy:**

> I’m already regretting this. Ugh, fine.
> 
> You know BiteCon, the convention we’re doing in London next Saturday?

**terribletommo:**

> How could I avoid it, you’ve been promoting it like a stage mum for months. Have you switched from spamming tumblr and twitter to contacting your hapless victims directly?

**Grimmy:**

> Shut it, I’m brilliant at my job
> 
> But...yes, actually

**terribletommo:**

> Ha!

**Grimmy:**

> OK, look, one of the centerpieces of the con was supposed to be this big fan panel. About safe spaces on tumblr and how fandom can help people. We were gonna have four speakers, but Jesy and Leigh-Anne both had emergencies at the last minute.
> 
> You can’t have a panel with two people, but I reckon we could just pull it off with three. Especially if one of them is particularly talkative. And annoying.
> 
> And I know it’s short notice, but...

Louis waits for Nick to finish his last sentence, but after a few moments, he realizes Nick’s not actually going to.

**terribletommo:**

> Oh my god, you can’t even bring yourself to write the words, can you ??? 
> 
> “Please, tommo, my truest friend. Please save my skinny arse from professional failure”
> 
> Is that what you were trying to say ?

**Grimmy:**

> You can fuck right off. Will you come or not?

**terribletommo:**

> Course, mate. You didn’t even have to ask ;)

The truth is, even if it hadn’t been a favor to Nick, Louis would have jumped at any chance to go to BiteCon. Most of the show’s actors will be on panels and doing signings, and a good half of Louis’ best fandom friends are going. He’s been jealously watching this event take shape for what seems like the past year, always hoping he’d find the money to pay for registration and a hotel, but never quite succeeding.

But if he’s a panelist, Nick can fund him through the convention budget. Which means he’s officially going to the biggest _WH_ event on this side of the Atlantic.

Louis’ immediate thought is to message H, but he makes himself text Lottie first. She might actually disown him for going without her, but it will _absolutely_ be worth it. Soon, his phone is blowing up with a combination of furious and excited messages from the both of them.

**haz-the-bite:**

> This means I’ll get to meet you irl!

Louis drops his phone, curses, and fumbles to retrieve it from between the bed and his wall.

He’d completely forgotten that H would be there too. That they’ll finally be able to _see_ each other after all this time. That in person, there’s no way Louis can hide how he feels.

_Shit_.

***

It’s a week and a half after their disastrous Harry Potter conversation that Louis comes back to the coffee shop.

Not that Harry’s keeping track.

Although Louis doesn’t come around the coffee shop every day, he and Eleanor almost always work there on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On Tuesday, Harry wonders grumpily if Louis has finally found a new barista to torment. But after Eleanor comes in alone on Thursday, Harry starts to genuinely worry that he’s driven Louis away permanently. He works himself into enough of a state that on Friday, he spends his day off lurking in the coffee shop anyway, giving dire looks to every non-Louis patron who walks through the doors.

Louis comes in the next Tuesday. There’s something small and muted about his movements as he enters which only serves to worry Harry further. Harry’s never seen Louis look either of those things.

“Are you alright?” Harry can’t help but ask in a low voice when Louis approaches the counter. He almost reaches out, but stops himself just in time. Harry watches Louis’ face go through a flip-book of different emotions: surprise, nervousness, puzzlement.

“Yeah, m’fine,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows. There’s something a little artificial in it, but Harry remembers suddenly that they don’t _know_ each other. He can feel himself getting flustered.

“Well, just, you weren’t here last week, so.” Harry tries to make it sound casual, like he just happened to notice, and not like the desperate stalker he is, but the breeziest tone in the world can’t accomplish _that_.

Louis just stares at him. Harry may as well have been speaking a foreign language.

“That’s an odd thing to notice,” he finally says, and he’s already half-turned away when he adds, “Large tea, please.”

“Right,” Harry says quietly, and goes to fetch it.

At first, Harry’s shocked and a little hurt at Louis’ flat tone, used to even his harshest remarks being softened by the glimmer of a smile, or some warmth in his eyes that confirms he’s only joking. And then Harry realizes that up until a few weeks ago, that flat disinterest had been exactly how Louis had always talked to him. It hits Harry, suddenly, how quickly their relationship has changed over such a short period of time, and how accustomed Harry has gotten to Louis’ attention, even if it hasn’t always been the kind of attention he wants. Harry isn’t sure he can stand to be without it again, now that he knows how it feels.

Harry watches Louis and Eleanor work for the next few hours, waiting for Louis to at least look up and glare at him, but he never does. He seems too intent on fiddling with something on his phone to even attend to Eleanor, who’s getting increasingly frustrated as the afternoon goes on.

In the end, Harry gives up and distracts himself by focusing entirely on the messages that he and Tommo have been casually sending back-and-forth all afternoon.

**haz-the-bite:**

> Can’t wait for your panel! And I’m so proud you were chosen. You’re going to be brilliant. People really look up to you, you know :)

Tommo’s reply comes a few moments later:

> Have no idea why ! Just hoping I don’t publicly embarrass myself too badly !

**haz-the-bite:**

> Well I’ll be in the audience cheering you on. If you get nervous, you can always look for me

**terribletommo:**

> And how will I know which one is you, then ?

Harry can’t help the grin that spreads over his face at that. It’s a question he’s literally been training his _whole life_ to answer.

**haz-the-bite:**

> I could wear a red carnation
> 
> Or have a book with a rose in it!
> 
> Or, like, wear masks to disguise ourselves until the moment is right

Over at his table, Louis looks fondly down at his phone, a soft, private tilt to his grin, and Harry swallows around a lump in his throat. He wonders what Louis is looking at.

**terribletommo:**

> You’re such a sap. How many of those ideas were from classic rom-coms ?

**haz-the-bite:**

> no comment

**terribletommo:**

> We could also just exchange names and photos
> 
> It’s funny, I’ve actually done pretty well at staying anonymous on tumblr. But everyone’ll know my name in a couple days. So I might as well tell you now

**haz-the-bite:**

> No, we can’t! It’s like you have no poetry in your soul

Louis giggles, and Eleanor kicks him under the table.

**terribletommo:**

> I draw the line at masks
> 
> Or funny hats
> 
> You know what ? I’m putting my foot down : no hats of any kind

Harry snorts a little behind his hand. The noise makes Louis look up, startled, but he looks away when he sees it’s only Harry.

“ _Louis_ ,” Eleanor groans. “I know you’re excited about the weekend, but we have work to do before then.”

“What are you doing on the weekend?” Harry blurts out, craning his head over the counter toward their nearby table.

Harry wonders, idly, if he actually hates himself. It would explain why he’s asking questions about Louis and Eleanor’s _dates_ like he actually wants to know the answer. But at least Louis is looking at him now, hard, like Harry is a puzzle he’s determined to figure out.

Louis is silent for long enough that Eleanor answers for him, giving Louis an odd look as she does.

“He’s going to London.”

“Oh!” Harry blinks at them, suddenly remembering. “Actually...so’m I.”

“Yeah?” Eleanor asks. “What are you doing there?”

Harry gulps. He should have expected this question, but it still manages to take him by surprise.

“Er...” There is literally _no way_ Harry can tell Louis that he’s going to a _Werewolf High_ convention, especially after how mercilessly Louis had teased him about reading Harry Potter fanfiction.

“A concert,” Harry finally coughs, hoping his face doesn’t look too red.

“That sounds fun,” Eleanor smiles politely. “Lou’s going to--”

“An acting workshop. For school,” Louis cuts in abruptly, his eyes sliding away from Harry’s face. Eleanor frowns, but doesn’t say anything else, and the two of them settle back to work.

**haz-the-bite:**

> Let’s just leave it up to fate, yeah? See if we can spot each other

***

When Louis arrives at the room assigned to his panel, he’s shocked and a little anxious to see hundreds of people milling about in it. He knows BiteCon is large, of course, but somehow it hadn’t quite registered that people would actually show up to hear _him_. Louis can just imagine what H would say if Louis ever verbalizes that thought: something incredulous, probably. H has an automatic confidence in Louis that he’s not entirely sure he deserves.

Speaking of whom, his chances of spotting H in this crowd have just shot down to zero. _Damn his poetic soul_.

Perrie and Jade, the other two panelists, are already seated up at the front. The panel is scheduled to start soon, and Louis can already see Nick searching the crowd for him, a small frown on his face. Louis does one more frantic scan about of the room, and his eye suddenly catches on a familiar jumble of curls, threaded through with a familiarly absurd headscarf, and coming rapidly closer to where Louis is standing.

Before Louis can come up with a plan of attack, Harry Styles is standing right in front of him.

“What are you doing here? Did you follow me or something?” Louis blurts out sharply, eyes flicking over to the stage. He’s pretty sure Nick has just spotted him. Which means Louis had approximately two minutes to convince Harry to leave.

“Er, I’m a fan,” Harry says, ducking his head a bit self-consciously and tugging at the bottom of his T-shirt. Louis hadn’t noticed -- too shocked by Harry’s presence to take in any other details -- but he’s wearing a _Werewolf High_ shirt. With a full moon and everything. Louis has to commend Harry’s commitment to the bit.

“And my friend’s on this panel, so,” Harry adds.

“Oi, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, not sure I’d call us friends,” Louis points out, well aware that he’s wasting precious seconds on banter, but unable to resist. But rather than providing the retort Louis expects, Harry just gives him an adorably puzzled frown.

“What?”

“What?” Louis asks back, equally confused. Before he can press the matter further, a firm hand clamps down on his arm and starts dragging him in the direction of the stage.

“Should’ve known I’d find you two together,” Nick announces. “I’m disappointed in you, H. Thought you’d have better taste.”

“Fuck off,” Louis retorts pleasantly, before his brain catches up with what Nick had actually said. _H._ And it just...isn’t possible. Has to be a coincidence. 

Nick is still tugging at his arm, but Louis digs in his heels, ignoring Nick’s wrathful muttering to look hard at Harry. He’s searching his face for some sign of the boy he knows. But all he sees is the slightly bemused face of a boy who hates pop culture. And also, possibly, Louis himself.

“Just...can’t you please go? I promise, once I get home, you can take the piss all you like. But this is actually important to me.” Louis can hear the pathetic, pleading tone in his voice, and knows he’s destroying any remnants of dignity or coolness he may’ve had left. But it’s not like Harry had _ever_ thought he was cool in the first place, right?

Harry’s face floods with color, like his first instinct is to be offended, but his expression quickly slips back into one of even deeper confusion. Before Louis can embarrass himself with further begging, Nick has hauled him away, Harry’s pouting face immediately becoming lost in the crowd. Nick shoves Louis bodily into his seat on the panel, flicking him on the ear as a punishment that Louis probably deserves. He doesn’t even hear Nick introduce Perrie or Jade, too busy scanning the audience for Harry. _There_ \-- standing like an idiot in an aisle, staring up at Louis with large eyes. Louis flushes and forces himself to attend to Nick.

“And our last panelist needs no introduction. Whether you’ve read his recaps, laughed at his shitposts, or turned to his inbox for advice, I’m sure you’ve all been touched in some way by Louis Tomlinson.”

“Thanks for making me sound like a creep,” Louis groans, and he’s gratified when the audience starts to giggle.

“ _I_ was being heartfelt, _you’re_ the one who made it weird,” Nick retorts lightly, and the audience laughs harder when Louis flips him off.

“Anyway, I wasn’t done. In keeping with his penchant for _WH_ conspiracy theories, Louis has been quite good at hiding his real-life identity from his followers. Which is why I’m so pleased to finally put a face to one of my favorite names -- _terribletommo_.”

There’s a loud crash from somewhere in the the audience. The whole room shifts to stare at a very sheepish Harry Styles, sprawled amidst several upturned chairs and several more irritated fans.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, face averted from the stage as he hurries to right both the chairs and the people. Nick pointedly starts clapping for Louis, and the rest of the audience quickly follow suit. Louis barely hears them; he’s too busy craning his neck to try to get another look at Harry.

The panel itself starts off smoothly, even if Louis himself is slightly distracted by some fluttery feeling of anticipation that he can’t quite identify or explain, and which lodges itself in the pit of his stomach. He can practically feel Harry staring at him throughout, that same warm, intent, _creepy_ gaze he gets in the coffee shop sometimes. The one that always makes Louis flush and overcompensate with loud, absurd jokes to Eleanor, just to distract himself from the slight buzzing under his skin.

But after so much practice at ignoring Harry, Louis is very well-equipped to get through this stupid panel without embarrassing himself. So he banters with Perrie and Jade, makes jokes about Hank’s weird turtleneck obsession, and speaks earnestly about the importance of positive fan spaces. In short, the panel is everything Louis had hoped it could be. As long as Louis refrains from looking over at the corner of the audience where Harry is still sitting, in the same position he’d adopted when he’d sunk into a seat, his face pale and his full lips rounded into an “O” shape that is, quite frankly, a little obscene.

And somehow, abruptly, Louis just _knows_. Harry being here, Nick calling him H. None of this is a coincidence. Of course Harry _would_ choose some silly, punny name like _haz-the-bite_. Louis can suddenly imagine exactly the way he’d smiled when he’d thought of it: wide and smug, like he was some sort of comedic genius.

Of course Harry is a blogger with careful art and eager _WH_ predictions that _never_ come true. Of course H is the same fluffy-haired boy whom Louis had almost kissed in the quiet of an empty coffee shop. _Of course_ , the only two boys in the world who ever make Louis feel like he’s playing for keeps _would_ blend together into someone Louis doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop loving.

Louis shifts in his seat and directs a slightly manic smile at the girl who’s asking the next audience question:

“You and _haz-the-bite_ have the best collaborations, but you didn’t do a recap last week, so I guess I wanted to know: are you guys still planning to do more stuff together? Please?”

“You’ll have to ask him,” Louis answers. And that’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s doubly hard for Louis to move on from Harry now, and doubly impossible to hope. H still loves someone else. Harry still can’t stand him. Harry had only liked him with the anonymity of several screens dividing them -- he wants nothing to do with the real, live, in-person Louis -- and now that anonymity is gone.

There must be something sharp in his tone, because the fan hesitates, clutching the microphone anxiously before she speaks again.

“Um, it’s just, like, you guys seem really close? And your relationship kinda inspired me to make friends too, because you both made it seem so easy. And so I just wanted to say thanks and...um...Ikindashipyou.” The fan mumbles this last bit, scarlet-faced, before thrusting the microphone into the hands of the next person in line.

Louis is so busy having his internal crisis that he almost misses the fact that after the fan’s admission, the entire room had erupted into cheers. Louis flushes, for probably the three hundredth time that day, and as much as he tries to stop himself, his gaze is magnetically drawn over to Harry’s spot in the audience.

Harry isn’t clapping. But he is looking up at Louis hesitantly through his curls, something that looked bafflingly like _hope_ shining in his wide green eyes.

“Um...” Louis adjusts his fringe nervously, stalling for time. Harry’s face falls a bit, his expression closing off, and Louis panics. He has no idea what’s happening -- not really -- but just like that first day they met in the coffee shop (and too many other days in between), Louis is desperate to keep Harry smiling. Better men than Louis Tomlinson would’ve done worse things for that smile. A little public embarrassment suddenly seems like a low price to pay.

“I kind of ship us too,” Louis blurts out.

The room fills with noise. Even Nick’s considerable skills as a moderator aren’t enough to restore order for several minutes. But Harry is positively _glowing_ down there in the audience, and suddenly nothing else seems quite as important. Louis can already feel his face contorting into some absurdly besotted smile.

Nick gives Louis a narrow look, but he _does_ love Louis enough to provoke a friendly back-and-forth between Perrie and Jade that lasts the remainder of the hour, which allows Louis to sit in dazed silence, unabashedly staring over at Harry until the concluding applause sends him shooting out of his seat.

“Excuse me-- sorry--” he mutters, plunging into the chattering crowd, desperate to find Harry and make sure he hadn’t just tragically misread this whole situation.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted-- _Louis_ ,” Harry gasps as Louis approaches. His voice is breathless, almost reverent, and his hands are twitching like he wants to reach out for Louis but isn’t certain he’s allowed. And it’s clear that Louis is missing several key pieces of information, because... _what?_ But it’s equally clear to Louis that if he doesn’t kiss Harry Styles immediately, his lungs might _actually_ collapse. So Louis does the only possible thing he can, which is to barrel directly into Harry and kiss the squeak of surprise right out of his mouth.

Everything goes suddenly quiet -- from the whirl of the convention hall to Louis’ own rattling thoughts -- all fading down to Harry’s soft sigh, his arms stiffening in surprise before wrapping snugly around Louis, his warm mouth opening when Louis tangles a hand in his hair. Louis is so aware of every tiny sound Harry makes, every small shift of his body, that it takes him a few moments to realize that the hush isn’t only in his head, and that he and Harry are at the epicenter of several hundred uncharacteristically silent _Werewolf High_ convention-goers. Harry seems to realize it at the same time that Louis does, because he flushes and ducks his head against Louis’ shoulder, slotting his nose into the curve of Louis‘ neck, where Louis can feel a grin spreading against his collarbone. Louis’ hands float down to Harry’s waist and settle there like they were made to fit.

It actually feels a lot like being on stage, all these eyes turned to them, and Louis relaxes at the thought. He’s always known how to handle a stage.

“Said I shipped us, didn’t I?” He shoots a blinding grin at the quiet audience, and it succeeds in breaking the tension. Many of them laugh, a few clap. There’s one loud whistle near the back that almost certainly comes from Nick Grimshaw. 

“ _So_ much better than Comic-Con. Less queer-baiting,” a girl tells her friend gleefully as the make their way toward the exit.

“First rule of show business, give the people what they want,” Louis laughs, nosing at Harry’s hair until he lifts his head out of Louis’ shoulder.

“Anything they want?” Harry asks, sounding as dazed as if they’d been kissing for hours, splashes of color already high on his cheeks. _Christ, this boy_ , Louis thinks, and can’t help but kiss him again.

“C’mon,” Louis mumbles, tugging at Harry’s hands, mindful of the crowds still surrounding them. “We should --”

They manage to get just past the convention hall doors before Harry makes an impatient, desperate little noise, spins them both around to press Louis against the nearest wall, and proceeds to snog him absolutely senseless. Harry’s long, warm body holds Louis in place as he licks these embarrassing little moans out of Louis’ mouth, one hand steadying himself against the wall and the other firm on Louis’ arse. Louis thinks that if all his bones were to suddenly become water, the span of Harry’s hands might be able to hold him all together anyway, and --

And they are still in a public place, _God fucking dammit_.

“Harry -- Hazza -- wait,” Louis tries, but it’s like he physically _can’t_ stop kissing him, and it takes him a few more minutes before he manages to get out: “When I said give the people what they want, I didn’t mean _porn_.”

“Why not, our porn would be hot,” Harry mumbles into the tiny nips he’s kissing down Louis’ jawline. But the actual meaning of his statement must filter through Harry’s brain eventually, because after a few sluggish seconds, he pulls back to pant, “Yeah, OK,” and start dragging Louis toward the elevators.

***

Thank god Louis’ room is in this hotel, Harry thinks, in a desperate bid to focus on _anything else_ but the way Louis Tomlinson is shifting serenely against Harry’s hips in a _very crowded_ elevator. The slight smirk on his face tells Harry that Louis knows _exactly_ what he’s doing, and by the time they get to Louis’ floor, Harry is dizzy enough with arousal to stumble into a pillar, a decorative potted plant, and an unfortunate passerby before they reach the correct room.

He pounces on Louis again the moment they get through the door, slamming it shut and crowding Louis back up against it. It’s maybe becoming his signature move, but by the way Louis melts against him and kisses back eagerly, Harry’s fairly certain that Louis doesn’t mind.

Harry doesn’t know how long they stay there; he’s too wrapped up in the sensation of finally getting to _touch everywhere_. His hands move constantly over Louis’ body, because Harry finds he has a weird need to confirm that all the different parts of Louis are actually _there_. But after some period of time, as Harry sucks a large mark into Louis’ collarbone, Louis’ happy mumbles coalesce into actual words:

“Should we - - _God, Harry_ \-- maybe talk about this?” Louis thunks his head against the wall with an obscene groan that only makes Harry more determined to turn him incoherent full-time, but Louis eyes flutter open and he fixes Harry with an equally determined look.

“Because I don’t really understand -- _fuck --_ I don’t know what you want,” Louis gasps, rushing the last few words like he’s afraid he won’t be able to get them out. Harry hums and moves back up to Louis mouth.

“Just you,” he mumbles, words slurred against Louis’ lips. “Since the first moment.” Louis sighs blissfully against him for a split-second before Harry feels him pull back. He blinks down at Louis, who suddenly has his hand to his mouth, eyes wide.

“Wait. Am _I_ LB? The boy with the magical bum and...everything you said? That was about me?”

“Well it is. Magical,” is what slips out before Harry can properly organize his thoughts, but then his hands are shooting up to cover his own mouth as well. He stares at Louis in horror. When he thinks of all the things he’d told Tommo -- horrifically embarrassing things about, like, wanting to photograph his ankles -- Harry has the sudden urge to dive out a window. Instead, he settles for hanging his head, unable to look Louis directly in the eyes. He can’t even _remember_ half the things he’d said in those chats. _Fuck,_ this is such a disaster.

“You really -- that’s how you see me?” There’s something wobbly in Louis’ voice, but Harry isn’t nearly brave enough to look up and investigate further. He can already imagine how Louis must be looking at him right now: uncomfortable and a little alarmed. The way people often look when Harry reveals how quickly and intensely he feels about the stupidest things.

“Um,” seems like the only safe answer to that question. He’s waiting for Louis to let go of him completely, possibly punch him, which is why it comes as a complete surprise when Louis lunges forward and kisses him again, sloppy and urgent, his fingers clenching tightly at Harry’s shoulders. And then Louis is leaning away from the kiss as abruptly as he’d started it. Harry’s not proud of the small whine he makes, or the way his head instinctively ducks forward to chase Louis’ mouth. Louis jus stares back at Harry, a tiny crease forming between his eyebrows.

“But you hate me. You’re always glaring at me in the shop.”

Harry can feel his mouth drop open. “You basically pretend I don’t exist!”

“ _Because you’re always glaring at me_ ,” Louis repeats, his voice steadily rising in pitch.

“Not at you, at--” Harry clamps his mouth shut before he can blurt out the next embarrassing detail. But Louis just _looks_ at him, one eyebrow raised in sarcastic anticipation, and it’s like the blue of Louis’ eyes have the power to drag the words out of him. “At Eleanor,” Harry finishes quietly, scrunching his nose, a little petulant that Louis had made him say it.

Louis lets out a shaky breath that Harry is vaguely suspicious contains a laugh.

“You were jealous? Of El?” And yes, definitely a laugh. “Are you still? Because I can promise you I’ve never kissed _her_ in front of hundreds of people. Never kissed her at all, actually, and I don’t plan to start.”

“No,” Harry retorts, but he can’t help the way his voice slides into insecurity. “But you just fit together so well. And you called her ‘love.’” The moment it’s out of Harry’s mouth, he knows how ridiculous it sounds. It had all made a lot more sense when he’d been watching behind the counter as Eleanor and Louis had ducked their heads together over their schoolwork, no space between them as they laughed, comfortable and easy, Eleanor teasing Louis and Louis’ hands nudging against hers to make notes on their lighting plot.

“I can’t believe it. Eleanor will never let me forget this.” Louis is full-on laughing now, but he must sense Harry’s distress because he abruptly quiets and pulls Harry closer towards him.

“Come here, you absurd, _beautiful_ boy,” Louis breathes, adoration filling every syllable. “It’s just you, too. Maybe since always.”

***

“C’mon lads, it’s about to start!” Niall pounds on Louis’ closed door, and then gives it a kick for good measure. “Stop shagging and get out here!”

“You know, for all he complains, I think Niall may love this show more than we do,” Louis laughs. He and Harry are lying in a nest of blankets on his bed, Harry pressed sleepily into Louis’ shoulder as Louis twirls Harry’s hair through fingers.

“Mmm,” Harry contributes. Louis’ boyfriend is the most eloquent.

“Tommo, I swear to god--” It’s Liam now, yelling from Louis and Niall’s common room, where the _Werewolf High_ stream is already set up.

“We’ve created a monster,” Harry mumbles with his eyes closed, voice still a little rough from his nap.

“Our little werewolf children,” Louis agrees cheerfully, and prods a bit at Harry to rouse him. “C’mon, love, I’ll let you wear my _Werewolf High_ hoodie while we watch.”

When they emerge from Louis’ room, Harry wrapped happily in Louis’ softest hoodie, it’s to find Liam and Niall having a spirited argument about the upcoming episode.

“Yeah, but in a cast interview, they said--” Niall is saying, before Liam cuts him off with a yelp.

“No spoilers!”

“--they _said_ ,” Niall continues doggedly, “that there’d be more werewolf mythology this season.”

“That’s what I’ve been _saying_. Hank’s family were powerful werewolves, and I bet you ten quid they do a flashback episode.”

“Deal. But you better hope not, cuz it means we switch to vodka,” Niall says darkly, brandishing his beer in one hand and a laminated copy of _Louis and Harry’s Official WH Drinking Game Rules_ in the other.

“Wait, what?” Liam asks, squinting at the page.

“Do you never check your email, Payno? Budge over,” Louis inserts, wriggling around on their sofa and throwing sharp elbows until he’s cleared a space for himself and Harry. “Alright, you can start. _God,_ you’re both so impatient.”

“I agree with Liam, they’re definitely doing a flashback episode,” Harry announces as he snuggles into Louis’ lap, curling into the loose arm that Louis drapes around his shoulder. He pouts when Niall and Louis snicker, and Liam mutters a resentful: “Well it’ll never happen _now._ ”

“Heyyy! I’m not _always_ wrong,” Harry yelps. “I was right that there’d be sexual tension between Hank and Logan this season!”

“That’s because there’s _always_ sexual tension between Hank and Logan, Hazza,” Louis reminds him, tickling the back of Harry’s neck until he squirms in Louis’ lap. “You basically predicted that the sun would rise in the morning.”

“ _And it did_ ,” Harry informs him, batting at Louis’ hands.

“Are we all ready? Unless Liam wants to place any more bets?” Niall asks, hand poised above the laptop, cheerfully accepting a light shove from Liam in retaliation.

“Wait!” Harry darts up from the sofa and sprints back to Louis’ bedroom, returning after a few seconds with his camera. The three other boys groan.

“ _Hazza_ ,” Louis says, simultaneous with Niall’s “ _More_ photos of Louis?”

“It’s for _Art_ ,” Harry insists. “Smile, LB!”

“I still don’t understand what that means,” Liam frowns.

“That’s because it’s a secret code, Liam. You can’t tell those to just anybody. Right, Curly?” Louis says, and gives Harry a small, private smile that makes Harry grin back.

“ _I_ still don’t know why people care so much about Louis watching _Werewolf High_ ,” Niall inserts, rolling his eyes at the two of them.

Harry had started supplementing their joint recaps -- much easier now that they watch together -- with a bizarre weekly photo-essay of Louis’ reactions to each episode. Louis is still not entirely sure how he feels about it. Or about the fact that Tumblr apparently finds his facial expressions _hilarious_.

“Lou’s very popular. And you’ve gotta give the people what they want, right Louis?” Harry throws him a broad wink, and Louis groans again. Niall shakes his head.

“You just want to take thousands of pictures of Louis when he can’t escape,” he concludes.

"Well. I’m people, too, aren’t I?” Harry says loftily, and raises his camera.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [ tumblr](http://rainbowninja.tumblr.com/)!


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